


Hair

by the_adorable_spiderman (typewritergirl98)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: BAMF Michelle Jones, Best Friends, F/M, Gen, Hair, High School, MJ hair throws peter off, MJ wants to look nice, Michelle Jones - Freeform, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Possible Continuation, Precious Peter Parker, Prom, Rating: PG13, Romance, Secret Crush, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Teen Crush, Teen Peter Parker, Teen Romance, cant stop looking at MJ, hair down, peter has a major brian fart, spiderman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-05-06 19:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14654847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typewritergirl98/pseuds/the_adorable_spiderman
Summary: Peter noticed a lot about MJ, but her looks had never really crossed his mind more than a few times.There was always so much more to her than her looks after all.But every so often, he’d take notice...





	1. Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I just want to say thank you if you're reading this fic. It was inspidered by Zenday's flawless afro looks online. While I don't think MJ's hair is quite as poofy as some of Zendaya's looks, MJ does have a little more volume and curls when going natural. My thoughts of course were what Peter would think about seeing hr out of her usual pony tale. From there the fic kinda spiraled into something else....  
> Right now it's a one-shot because I don't know if anyone would even want to see more of the fic. So let me know if you like it and I'll post more! Anyways, enjoy!

* * *

  


MJ’s hair was something Peter rarely thought about. In fact, MJ’s signature updo was such a staple by this point that Peter could only vaguely remember her wild, unkempt, mane from elementary school. To most her traditional out-of-the-face mentality was simply because she didn’t bother. She didn't try. Peter couldn’t say it was because she didn’t try, though. At this point in their friendship, Peter knew that the bangs often threatening to cover half of her face were easily long enough to pull back into her ponytail, but MJ always left them out. In fact, Peter had a theory that MJ tried, in her own way, to look good.

She wore odd dresses to parties and shoes that didn’t match her outfits, but clashed just enough to be stylish instead of awful. On normal days she chose mismatched clothes that upon closer examination matched through some backwards irony. As much as MJ wanted to seem detached and unbothered by physical appearance, she _was_ trying, she just wasn’t conventional when it came to anything, including her style. She was different, and she knew she was different. That was why Peter found her so incredibly fascinating.

However, her hair, and overall how she looked physically, was something Peter only thought of on off occasions. Occasions such as decathlon practices that sometimes ran long and boring. The ones where MJ was literally right in front of him, grilling the team on questions, often huffing her bangs from her eyes. Sometimes he’d think about her outward appearance if the conversation was especially dry, and MJ were sitting directly across from him and Ned, as she always did now. So, he didn’t _often_ think about her quirky sense of style, or the fact that she didn’t look like most girls when it came to hair and makeup.  Instead, Peter always noticed her in other ways. Like when she immediately knew the answer a formula in AP Chemistry, one that he couldn’t figure out for the life of him.. He noticed her when she, after one too many snide remarks from Flash, twisted the guy’s arm behind his back so fast Peter had barely see it, and had Flash bent over a table begging for mercy. He noticed how she twisted some Oreos and dipped others with no apparent reasoning. Peter new that she drank coffee in the evenings because it made her drowsy and ate an apple if she wanted to stay awake. He knew that she was a genius in every one of her classes. She studied with him for every single one. She seemed like the type of person who might be into the whole vinyl, hipster type vibe, but Peter knew that she didn’t like records and preferred her digital music.

Peter noticed a lot about MJ, but her looks had never really crossed his mind more than a few times.

But now, at this moment, MJ’s hair was all Peter could think about. As she strolled through the doors of the cafeteria her hair was, surprisingly, loose of a hairband. Falling frizzy and kinky around her face, in between actual curls and coiled waves. It was some odd purgatory right in the middle, and it was totally wiping Peter’s brain of what Ned was talking about next to him.  The wisps of hair floating around the main mass of MJ’s hair swayed, unbothered by gravity, as she plopped violently onto the bench opposite of Peter and Ned.

Ned, neglecting his and Peter’s previous conversation about the suit, started talking to MJ right away about something Peter could care less about. Because seriously, her hair was longer than he thought, and she looked, like, really great. In all his one-year time of being best friends with MJ he felt as if he was seeing her for the first time.

She laughed at something Ned said, her lips sliding back from her teeth, revealing a rare and infectious  smile.  But still, her hair commanded the attention of the room. Peter wanted to feel the coarse locks between his fingers and find the scent of her shampoo buried in her hair.

“Peter.” Her tone was sharp, and he realized that when she was talking about if someone wanted to come over and watch a movie that she had been talking to him. He blinked, keeping a close eye on her hair, wondering why it wasn’t literally tilting everyone else’s world sideways.

“Yeah, sure.” His voice cracked. He swallowed past the sudden blockage in his throat. “I mean I’ll try, Stark Internship and all.”

He still had yet to tell her about the Spiderman thing, something Ned was chomping at the bit to tell. But they had all barely been good friends for a year. No matter how much he trusted MJ with his secret, if he made an exception for her he’d feel obligated to make the same exception for Gwen.  

 _Gwen_ …

His super amazing sort-of-girlfriend who he should’ve been thinking about instead of MJ’s hair.

“Hey, loser.” Said owner of hair barked, again bringing Peter back to reality. “What the hell, dude? You’re totally comatose today, what’s up?” In the minimal fraction of time before Peter could even start a reply she turned to Ned. “Loser Two, what’s up with him?” She brandished her plastic fork towards Peter before taking a large scoop of mac and cheese and shoving it in her mouth. Another thing Peter knew she secretly liked: the god-awful school cafeteria mac and cheese. Sometimes MJ was disgusting.

Ned shrugged at MJ before shoveling a spoonful of red Jell-O into his mouth. “He’s probably just thinking about Gwen.” Ned smirked, jabbing Peter in the ribs with his elbow. Naturally, Peter blushed, subtly ducking his head toward his food. Peter wasn’t embarrassed because of Gwen though, he was embarrassed because he _should_ have been thinking of Gwen, not MJ and her stupid hair or her stupid face or her stupid likes and dislikes. Or the fact that she had a smudge under her chin that looked like charcoal. And suddenly he was looking at her neck and thinking about how he’d like to brush his lips— _HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE HELL WAS HE THINKING?_

“Bro, you’re a total loser, pull yourself together.” Peter felt the fire under his cheeks, traveling from his chest to his cheeks in a constant flow. He was _Spider-Man Red_ , which was fitting for obvious reasons. Muttering an apology, he cleared his throat. MJ didn’t bother to reply, instead shifting focus back to Ned. “By the way, Leeds, I have a picture of the color I’m wearing so you can get a tie or whatever to match.”

Peter snapped from his stupor instantly. _What color? Why would Ned need to match a tie to it?_ He’d get back to her freakishly perfect, tangled mess of curls later. “What?”

“And the loser finally joins the real world!” She smirked. “Tell us, what made you decide to come back to reality?” The whites of her teeth peaked through the smirk as she held her fork out like a reporter’s microphone.

Out of the corner of Peter’s eyes he could just barely see Ned smirk along with her. “ _Ha. Ha._ ” Peter deadpanned. “No, I just realized that you have a huge smudge of charcoal on your face. Sketching more distraught people, huh?” His eyes sparkled.

MJ didn’t even blink. “Do I really look like someone who gives a shit about charcoal on my face, Parker?”

Peter knew she did care though. That she was itching to scrub the spot off, but too prideful to admit it. “Just thought you should know.” Shrugging his shoulders innocently enough, he smirked, enjoying the subtle discomfort oozing off of her. He barely caught her quick glance toward the window, trying to catch her reflection in it.

Peter put a horrible spoonful of fake cheese and whole grain noodles in his mouth. “Anyways, what color thing were you talking to Ned about?” He attempted to play it off, tried not to seem overly interested. Tried to look like he was just making conversation.

“She’s just talking about Prom.” Ned stepped in. MJ was too busy sneaking her arm quietly up to her face until she could casually prop her chin on her hand, hiding the smudge under her palm.

“Prom?” Suddenly Peter felt like it was a new concept. _Why in the world would Ned and MJ need to match colors for Prom?_

When MJ’s hand pulled back from her chin a slightly red mark was all that was left of the smudge. “Yeah. Prom. It’s the thing you tried to ask Gwen to for like three weeks. Ringing any bells?” Peter shot her a glare which she promptly ignored.

“MJ and I have been going to dances together since last year.” Peter whiped his head around to look at Ned, a stricken look plastered on his face. Ned looked totally calm and unbothered. As if it was common knowledge him and MJ had been going dates to dances since last year. As if Peter could pull out his phone and google Ned and MJ and it would pop up giving a list of dances they’d been to. His world felt off axis.  

It made sense, them going to dances together. He understood the logic of it. It was what friends did if they didn’t have dates, or if they wanted to skip the whole awkward first date getting to know people. Peter understood, crystal clear. Yet, suddenly he was really not ok with it. Like at all.

When Peter finally came to his senses Ned was giving him a look. A look that said, _‘Bro, why are **you** looking at me like that?_ ’ Peter quickly recovered his shocked expression into one of aloofness. It didn’t fool Ned, but he didn’t bother pointing it out to Peter. _Yet_ anyways. Instead Ned jumped back into the conversation. “I had to do a little more convincing this year though. She was being really reluctant about it.” Ned glanced over to MJ, giving her a chance to explain.

Her fingers were resting on the pages of a worn book, which she must have cracked open in span of the last few seconds. She realized the lull in the conversation, glancing up to see both Peter and Ned’s eyes on her. “Huh?” Her eyes, lazy, yet alert, switched between Peter and Ned.

“Just telling Peter about your sudden objection to Prom.”

Her eyes, still half lidded, rolled. “It’s a stupid social convention used as a smoke screen for teenagers like ourselves to have a popularity contest and give people the chance to get overly made up and fake, spending a ridiculous amount of money just for one night with some person you’re probably not even going to remember in twenty years. All that extra makeup and hair just to fit into the social box of normalcy. People literally spend months saving up money to look nice and have a fancy dinner. Then the idiots use it as an excuse to get drunk in the name of tradition and ceremony. It’s a stupid tradition that everyone thinks is amazing because maybe they get to be someone for like five seconds of their pathetic life.” She didn’t take a breath, nor did she move her eyes from her book. Even though both Peter and Ned knew she wasn’t reading.

“Then why are you going?” The question felt so reminiscent of sophomore year as it left Peter’s lips.

She finally looked up. “Because it’s what Ned and I do. We go to lame parties together—”

Ned interjected, “But—”

“And,” MJ steamrolled over him. “I might as well go anyways because I have nothing else to do. No mater how idiotic it is.” Her eyes returned promptly to her book.

“But you’re like, so against Prom. Way more than any other dance we’ve been too! You act like you’d rather die than go, but then you’ve got a dress and you actually want me to match some form of my own clothing to it?” Ned was sniffing at a trail. Starting down a path.

MJ turned back to Ned, her usual half eyed, monotone stare. “That’s what girls do Ned, we get dresses to wear to Prom.”

Ned jabbed his finger at her, eyes lighting like a fire. He looked like he caught her in a lie. “Ah! But you don’t!” He said. “I mean, you do, but you never hide your dress from me, and usually it’s a dress that you already have laying around your house. And, we never color coordinate our actual outfits! We’ve always just done the flower stuff.” That’s probably why Peter never noticed them coupled at the dances.

“And your point?” MJ replied, not bothering to look up anymore. She seemed like she was hiding.

“So, why would you put so much effort into this if you hate the entire dance as a whole? Why not wing it like we usually do?” It was a rhetorical question.

Peter tried to bring the conversation away from MJ, who seemed to be sinking closer to her book. “Ok, so what’s the point. She got a dress, it’s probably not a big deal.” If he knew MJ, she probably just picked a nice semi-casual dress from the second-hand store she shopped at. 

“See, we all know MJ has this thing against, like, any normal teenage social activity. Right? But suddenly she’s bagging Prom every chance she gets. I mean I’d say she didn’t care, or like, didn’t want to go. But…” Ned smirked deviously. “She’s specifically requested that I match her dress this year, which means she’s not just throwing on some dress and heading out the door—”

Peter gave him a look. “The point Ned?” He said the same time MJ snapped, “Ned.”

It was a warning.

Ned kept going. “So, Peter, this means Michelle Jones is actually putting effort into spiffing herself up for Prom.”

Peter merely blinked in reply.

MJ glared through her lashes. “Leeds, I swear to God—”

Turning directly toward Peter, Ned’s eyes filled with excitement. Like he cracked the case. And Peter, well, he was hanging on to every word, at this point. If MJ was getting pissed, it meant Ned was on to something. Whatever it was he was on to. “From my professional opinion and expertise, I think MJ—”

“Screw it I don’t care, say what you want.” MJ’s head turned down again to her book. She was obviously fuming. Peter swore he could see the head radiating off her. Maybe it was just the wind catching her hair, making it look like the dancing waves of heat on asphalt.

“ _Peter!_ ” Ned was snapping his fingers.

Peter fell back into attention. “Yeah, sorry. What about MJ?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her head duck minutely further into the book.

Ned smirked, leaning in as if to murmur a secret, however never changing his volume. “I think our own Could-Give-A-Shit-Michelle has a crush, and said crush must be going to Prom. And said someone must be going with someone else. Why else would she be so verbally against Prom and the social status of Prom, more so than any other dance, _but_ also actually be making way more effort than what she usual does for such occasions.” Ned was so proud of himself. It was obvious from the way his brown eyes sparkled and the white of his teeth practically overtook his darker skin. “All we need to do now, Dude, is find out who this person is so we can totally wing man for her!”

MJ’s head flew up. Her usual chill eyes bulging, her jaw noticeably clamped over and over. Her knee hit the underside of the table, causing the entire top to shudder violently. Her hair concealed her expression and her hands quickly shoved her book into her bag before both hands clamped down on the edge of the table. It shuddered again, weaker than her first impact, but still enough to be threatening, as she lifted her withering glare to Ned.

Ned had a way of speaking before thinking. And any time he spoke without thinking he usually figured it out pretty quick. Right at that moment Ned knew instantly he’d fucked up. His smile dropped. ”MJ, I…”

“How about you don’t talk about me and my supposed love life like I’m not sitting two feet away from you. Also, even if I did have feelings for someone, it wouldn’t be any of your business.” The writhing heat of her glare steadied, calmed, if only slightly. “I have physics homework.” And just like that she was taking long, staccato, steps out of the lunch room.  Her dejected lunch merely stared back at both shocked teenagers left in the aftermath of MJ’s fury.

Ned instantly scrambled from his seat, grabbing both MJ’s and his tray, dumping them into the dumpster by the table. He threw his bag over his shoulders. “So, I’m going to go and say I’m sorry because that was a way worse reaction than I was expecting. I mean I didn’t mean to like piss her off, I was just teasing.” Guilt was etched all over his face. “I’ll talk to you tonight, bro.” And he was off, left to trail her pouf of curls out of the cafeteria.

Peter couldn’t find any motivation to move. All he could think about was the fact that MJ had a crush. Or, ‘supposedly did’ if Ned’s theory checked out, and his theory made a lot of sense.

Staying still, Peter was trying not to fall into a mess of his impossibly tangled thoughts. A pile of confusion he often left for other times and other days. MJ was riddled throughout the knotted wires of his brain, and often her signals tried to awaken the dejected pile of cords in the corner of Peter’s psyche. The corner where he pushed all his confusing MJ thoughts.

Gwen, by contrast, was clean and orderly, wires never crossed, removed from confusion or stress. Suddenly Gwen seemed dislodged completely from Peter’s actual brain. She seemed so clinical and passionless. So…. _easy_. Yet, MJ’s circuitry, while untamed and wild, was lighting up every corner of Peter’s brain. She was everywhere, even tangled ever so slightly into Gwen’s nook of his mind. Gwen, so ordered and calm against the exhilarating chaos that was MJ.

Peter could feel MJ’s tangled circles of wire running rampant, a perfect mirror to her unruly hair. Both demanded attention. The thought of MJ as a whole slowly consumed Peter as he replayed over and over the bounce of her hair as she’d marched away.


	2. Smother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle wasn't always as detached as she seemed. Smothering feelings was just something she'd grown accustomed to. That is, until certain people start poking around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE! I just have to say THANK YOU ALL SOOOOO MUCH! Your love and support of this story has really been amazing, so I will be posting more chapters. I'm assuming there will be close to two or three more! I've read everyone of your comments and wanted to reply but I was afraid if I replied to everyone and then missed some that people may get offended, so I just want all of you to know how much I've loved your comments and have really enjoyed your feedback! Please keep commenting, it really helps me! 
> 
> Also! Another very important thing I need to note! I have been blessed with an incredible [Beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mialeave/pseuds/mialeave).  
> Go check my beta out and please enjoy the chapter!

* * *

  **Smother**

 

Growing up, Michelle had loved princesses.  She especially loved Belle, her smart, studious and compassionate nature was unique beyond the stereotypical beauty and poise of a princess. Because of this love, she had begged her mother to allow her to dress as Belle for Halloween. When she was four, her mother had found a dress-up gown from a thrift store which Michelle wore to threads. The carefully balanced questions, ‘who are you supposed to be?’ or ‘wouldn’t you rather be a princess that was… more like you?’ had never struck Michelle as odd. Her kinky mane of hair and dark complexion never entered the consideration of the pleased four-year-old.

When she turned seven and _The_ _Princess and the Frog_ came out, people then asked: ‘Are you sure Tiana’s not your favorite?’. Michelle hated it. She felt just because her physical appearance was closer to Tiana didn’t mean she was required to be her favorite. She related most to Belle. She admired her always, and so, she dressed like her. It didn’t mean she had to be the embodiment of Disney’s vision. She wanted to be smart, she wanted to be kind, she wanted to look pretty. The difference in skin color never made her think she couldn’t be any of that.

Michelle still remembered the weeks before her eighth Halloween, ready, yet again, to be Belle. Her mother had been hiding money from her father out of her own paycheck, just to buy Michelle a new costume. Specifically, the sparkly one Michelle had seen in the _Disney_ store. ‘Excitement’ could barely describe how jovial she was about getting a new dress. Michelle had counted down the days until Halloween. When she’d have her hair curled with an iron, and her mother would let her wear the tiniest bit of makeup. Michelle always felt like a real princess from the attentive effort.

Three weeks before Halloween, while her mother had been pulling Michelle’s hair into two little buns on her head, her father burst in and ruined everything.

He had exploded into the bathroom without warning before his hand clenched around a fistful of her mother’s hair. That was how he’d dragged her from the bathroom. Michelle still remembers the sharp pain of her own head snapping back, her mother never having enough time to let go of Michelle before being yanked into the hallway. The wall had trembled, and her mother’s body landed in a deafening thud of bones and misery on the floor. She laid deathly still on the floor, her father looming over her. His knuckles protruded as mountains from his fist, veins popping under the skin of his reddened hand.

Michelle didn’t remember much about what happened next, but she could still perfectly picture what his hand looked like clenched by his side. She remembered the course of his veins, the square shape of his fist when it clenched, and the red smeared across his knuckles. The red on his knuckles matched the red seeping from the newly acquired, swollen cut on her mother’s cheek.

Michelle could also recall her father’s furious words. “You’ve been sneaking money out of your paycheck? Been keeping money from _me_? Money for bills, money for food? To buy the kid a costume for Halloween? Like I wouldn’t fucking find out! That _thing_ will always be the daughter of a whore. She’ll always be an ugly piece of shit, you hear? I better not hear about you wasting money on her anymore. And if you so much as think about sneaking around behind my back again, I will fucking kill you.” He’d said the last sentence through gritted teeth, begging her mother to give him one reason to kill her right there.

That day everything changed. Everything Michelle knew was left askew. Everything about her changed, snapped. Much more of her would break in years to come, but at that moment she knew that the reason her mother was lying on the floor crying was because of her. From that moment Michelle knew her father didn’t love her anymore, if he ever had. Right at that defining moment—her mother sobbing into the carpet, her blood turning the white fibers pink while her father turned the house cold—Michelle changed drastically, while nothing else changed around her.

Michelle didn’t dress up that year, or any year following. She stopped asking her mother for pretty dresses. She stopped believing in fairytales. Instead she read anything she could get her hands on. She built her brain. Her mother could barely protect herself, much less Michelle. So instead Michelle used her books, her logic, to build walls and fortresses around her emotions. Distancing herself was all she could do to protect herself from her father.

After years, her mother finally asked for father for a divorce. Michelle had been right in the middle of being thirteen. It was messy and violent. The flashing lights--red and blue-- were seared in her mind as she’d watched her father carted off in the back of a police vehicle all while the paramedics assessed the damage his fists had done to her mother.

That was the last time she saw her father.

Missing him was never an issue. When she’d been pulled aside by her teachers, by her mother, all of them concerned, she told them all the same thing. She told them his absence didn’t bother her as much as his presence had.

Michelle and her mother continued living in their apartment, in a good part of town. Her mother still paid the bills working as a software technician. But Michelle no longer saw concealed bruises on her mother. Without her father’s paycheck though, her mother had to work longer hours, take on harder projects. She wasn’t around much.

Michelle found distancing herself from her mother was best for everyone. Her mother could work on her career, finally without worrying about Michelle, and Michelle could pretend that her mother’s absence didn’t bother her. Distancing herself from people in general became second nature. Soon enough, Michelle had distanced herself far enough she stopped caring what she looked like. Stopped caring about the snide remarks girls would say under their breath about her outfits, or her hair. Michelle didn’t care that she wasn’t pretty like other girls. Beautiful was never a word people used to describe her. That knowledge didn’t hurt her anymore.

See, Michelle didn’t see the point in wearing makeup, or cute preppy dresses with matching shoes. All of it would just look fake on her. Besides, people were already saying shit behind her back so what was the difference? Instead, Michelle opted for mismatched clothing, a casual hairstyle, a sarcastic bite to her words, and accessorized with books instead of necklaces. Her father’s abuse had conditioned her emotions to handle more than a few petty remarks from girls she didn’t give a damn about.

After the people had their fun, said their piece about Michelle, most of them moved on to easier targets. She faded into the wonderful realm of weird-girl invisibility while others weren’t that lucky. Peter Parker became A-list victim material. Unlike Michelle, his emotions played out on his face, easier than reading a book, even for idiots like Flash.

Being invisible to others created an opportunity for Michelle to really observe other people, not just the masks they put on for their friends or teachers, Michelle was an expert at reading people and she prided herself on her skills.

Peter Parker had ended up being the focus of Michelle’s attention, dating all the way back to elementary, far before any of the assholes—mainly Flash—caught sight of him. Something about him always caught her eye. She was always so curious about him.

From the beginning, when Peter showed up three weeks late to kindergarten, he’d seemed different. He waited his turn for toys, never shouted out answers--or anything for that matter-- to the teacher, the only time he raised his hand was to ask questions. Yet, even back then, Michelle knew he aced every stupid quiz about colors, or letters, or numbers. He even read _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_. She’d been trying to read that for months, but her mom always had to help her.

Michelle’s curiosity only increased as the years went by. Peter Parker grew more complex with each passing year. In fifth grade, for his science project, he did an entire analysis of the physics and history of the Iron Man suit. He didn’t win, but she thought he should have. He got into advanced classes when they moved to middle school. But he wasn’t just smart, he was also brave. He stood up to a seventh grader for Ned when they were in sixth grade. Peter had been the smallest in their class, and the seventh grader was ridiculously bigger than him. Peter landed one good punch on the kid before he lost the fight horribly. But he took that beating for Ned Leeds, his best friend, and never yelped once. Michelle had been the one to grab an administrator, who promptly broke the fight up. The guy who beat Peter got expelled and Michelle still smiled thinking about it.

Once everyone moved to Midtown High, she started to realize that Peter was truly an enigma. In September of their freshman year, he completely shifted again out of the blue. Michelle knew nothing as to why his behavior suddenly changed, or why he could suddenly run five laps in gym without breaking a sweat. All she knew was that before the Midtown Sponsor Science Exhibit, Peter had still been elusive, scrawny, nerdy Peter. After the Science exhibit, he changed. He looked stronger, alert, capable. Granted he was still a nerd. He was hiding something. Michelle _knew_ he was hiding something, and she was very interested in what it could possibly be. Her ears perked up when his name came up in conversations. Sometimes she could hear him talking to Ned at lunch or in class. Once in a blue moon, gossip about him filtered around the school. Through all of it, she picked up on some things. Things she wasn’t sure solved the mystery of Peter Parker, but they were things she knew nonetheless.

She noticed he was always the first one out of school at the end of the day. She noticed that he seemed to have bulked up from the scrawny toothpick frame he’d had only months before in eighth grade. Gym had suddenly seemed to become less of something he hated. He had stopped whining and, on top of that, never broke a sweat. For some reason, he seemed to try and hide the fact that he was better at athletics. She knew that he didn’t really have a least favorite subject, but he never really did seem to enjoy English as much as Science. She knew that he made the Decathlon team his freshman year. She also knew it was unusual for a freshman to get a spot on the team their freshman year. He’d also started watching videos during his classes. It always looked like videos of the Spider-guy-thing that had been swinging around Queens.

When his uncle died, Michelle noticed just how long it truly took Peter stop grieving. He’d acted for months after the death like he was ok, but Michelle could see that when no one was looking he was as broken as he had been since his Uncle died. He wore the facade of happiness, but any time she saw him without that mask he looked crushed by guilt. She didn’t know why, but she prayed to any god that would listen to save him. Someone like him didn’t deserve to feel as broken as he’d looked.

Michelle had paid close attention to Peter freshman year and by its end, Michelle knew she was in trouble. Peter wasn’t just some guy she liked to observe. He hadn’t been for a long time.

Michelle had grown attached. She started feeling the desire to be near him, to really _know_ him instead of just noticing him. Michelle pushed it down far into the depths of her body, past her heart and her stomach, through the muscle and the bone, she buried it in ashes of burned trauma and scorched feelings. There, in that pit only known to her, Michelle had desperately tried to smother a fire contrived of Peter.

Michelle currently could feel that fire scorching her body now, radiating from her stomach, as she sat in the bathroom stalls. She hated to be cliché, hiding in the bathroom stalls, but she really had no other place she could go. She just wanted a lock, a door. She needed some goddamn privacy, because the halls were packed, and she needed to _breath_ e.

She drifted from one side of the stall to the other, her boots scuffing the floor every few steps, reminding her she wasn’t floating away. That she was grounded. _God,_ she was angry. Pressing a cool palm to her forehead, she took in a deep breath. She may have overreacted just a tad, but really, it wasn’t their business why she was buying a dress for Prom, or who--if anyone--she had a ‘crush’ on. She didn’t see the big deal with putting some effort into Prom just because she wanted to.

_It didn’t matter, s_ he tried to convince herself. It really did, though _._

She kicked at the tiled wall. The chipped tile her boot contacted with gave way a few shards.

Michelle really didn’t want to care, because caring sucked. All she wanted was to go and have a stupid, fun time with Ned and not care about how she looked. She wanted to be ok in a stupid old dress and in her stupid old pony tail. But she couldn’t. She wanted to look better than her usual self. She wanted to show _him_ that she could dress up, that her hair wasn’t always confined to her ponytail. Michelle wanted him to see past his type of typical drop dead gorgeous girls and look at her the way he’d look at them, as if his world began and ended every time they walked into a room. She wanted to be the focus of his attention the same way he was the focus of hers. If only once, she wanted someone to find her beautiful, including her exterior.

It was all so tacky and misogynistic. Michelle was very, horrifically, aware at how much she sounded like a girl plucked straight from some rom-com. _God_ , she sounded pathetic. It was sad really. She did _not_ sound like the type of independent woman she’d made herself into. Besides, changing for any guy wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth prettying herself up just to be disappointed when he didn’t see her that way. It wasn’t worth the risk of their friendship if he did. Who’s to say he’d like what he saw when the makeup came off again. On top of every reason not to go through with her plan, his _sort-of girlfriend,_ as he called her, was very much in the picture. A lot of things were at risk, a lot of things she wasn’t willing to risk.

“Never mind,” The words slid from her lips, so hushed, so quickly that, though Michelle knew they were hers, they didn’t feel like they were. Harsh and abrupt she cleared her throat. Determined--sort of. “Never mind. I just won’t. It’s not worth my time.”

She would return her dress when she got home, put the makeup she bought into her mother’s makeup drawer, and then she’d forget. Prom wasn’t worth the fuss. He was her friend anyway, if he didn’t have the same feelings for her by now, a nice dress and some makeup wouldn’t change anything. But if she knew anything from years of being a loner, appearances mattered.

Forcing away all of her conflictions, Michelle violently grabbed her bag, pissed that she changed her mind so easily on this thing she’d been planning for a month. She didn’t even know if it was the right decision or not. No one ever told her when it was acceptable to try and make herself look pretty, especially if it was for a guy. The water had filled in way over her head on this one. She growled, determined to make her life easier and not even try.

Michelle was just about to open the stall door when Betty Brant’s voice entered the air, along with the soft sounds of her feet. “Michelle? Are you in here?”

“Yeah,” She pushed open the stall, her face the cool mask she wore so well. “What’s up?”

Betty looked tired when she answered. She’d texted MJ at midnight for their math study guide, up late studying no doubt. “Ned’s outside. He asked me to see if you’d come out and talk to him? He looks really bummed out.”

Sighing, Michelle slung her backpack onto her shoulder. “Yeah I’ll head out right now.” Betty merely nodded, the droop of her eyes threatened to shut completely. “Um—thanks.” Michele attempted a smile. Reassurance wasn’t usually her forte. “And, Betty?”

“Yeah?”

“The drama room isn’t being used next period. Everyone’s practicing in the auditorium for the play. They have some couches over there and the teacher doesn’t get mad if you take naps on them.”

Betty blinked, her jaw slightly slack. Swallowing, she visibly held back tears. Michelle just hoped Betty didn’t try to talk to her about it. “Um,” Betty’s voice was shaky. “Th-thanks, Michelle.” Her teeth glittered when she smiled, lighting up her eyes just enough to make the concealed bags under them less noticeable.

“Sure.”

Michelle left the dim bathroom, assaulted by the brightness streaming through the hall windows when she emerged. Her eyes squinted fractionally smaller.

Backing the windows, creating a large shadow on the linoleum floors, was Ned. Anxiousness was oozing from him; his eyes switch between her and the hall. His body swayed, fingers twitching. His mouth catapulted him into a conversation without any warning. “I’m really sorry, MJ. I didn’t think that you’d be so upset. I don’t know, I guess I was just excited because I thought you had a crush on someone and you’re always teasing Peter and I about who we like and I just—I didn’t think that it would hurt your feelings.” His eyes, steady and open, lock onto hers. “I’m sorry. I know that it’s not my business, but sometimes I don’t think, and I thought that maybe I was right that we could help you out like you help Peter and me. I took it too far though and I didn’t mean to make you cry, and I’m just—”

“Hold it. Who said I was crying?” She figured it was better to cut him off and focus on his last sentence. Hopefully it would break the tension. He obviously felt awful and Michelle knew how soft his heart was. She knew he didn’t mean anything by what he said. She’d snapped a little more violently than she should have.

“Well, um, you were in the bathroom?” Ned was confused. “When girls go to the bathroom after they’re upset—I mean—doesn’t that usually mean they’re crying?”

Michelle reminded herself that Ned was naïve to the intricacies of women, that what he said wasn’t meant as some offensive comment. “I really need to give you girl lessons, Leeds.” She smirked, which in turn caused his anxious energy to dissipate immediately.

He laughed, face completely changed from the anxious mess it had been. “What does it mean then when a girl goes to the bathroom for thirty minutes then?”

Michelle’s smile broke large across her face. No one else was in the hall though, so her reputation wasn’t horribly damaged. Michelle began walking toward her next class, fixing her smile into a smirk. Ned kept pace at her side as she walked. “When a girl is in the bathroom for thirty minutes it doesn’t have to _mean_ anything. Maybe she doesn’t want to be around people. Maybe she’s angry and needs space. Maybe she wants to cry. Or maybe, she just really has to poop.” 

Laughter blossomed between them, starting with Ned, until Michelle had no choice left but to give in as well. Both stopped mid-hallway, riding the last waves of their laughter, until Ned went silent again. With the shadow of a smile still on his lips, he looked up to Michelle. "We’re ok then? You’ll still go to Prom with me?”

Michelle tagged his shoulder with her own, a lazy smile spread on her face. “Yeah, Leeds. We’re cool.” They started walking again. “I’m sorry too.” She said.

Ned glanced up, brows knitting together before relaxing. Quick as lightning. “For what?”

“I, uh, lied back in the lunch room.” She purposefully kept her eyes locked on the end of the hall, where it cornered right. Past the corner, a few feet down, was her next class. Thinking about the steps left kept her mind off Ned and what she’s about to admit to him.

 “Do you mean…” It’s a question. His voice is a fraction higher, showing his growing excitement.

Rolling her eyes, Michelle answered his unasked question. “Yeah. I think I have feelings for somebody.” They were both almost to the corner. She could see the buildings of Manhattan in the distance through the nearing windows. She kept her eyes on the sparkling sun over their distant glass instead of daring to look at Ned.

“Oh my gosh. I was right? This is amazing! I can’t believe—” He notices her dirty look and opts to re-approach the enlightening news. “ _I mean_ , that’s cool. It’s cool. Would you want to maybe talk about? It’s cool if you don’t though too. Totally you’re call. I won’t push.”

Michelle stopped him, hand clasped tight around his forearm. They were at the corner and her classroom was only a few yards away. Peter was probably already there at their lab table, waiting for her to show up. “I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s just not something I’m comfortable talking about. But you’re the only one who knows that I’ve got a thing for someone. I don’t want people knowing about it. I have a reputation.” He smiled, she didn't, but he knew she’s trying to lighten the tone of the conversation. “Just… don’t tell anyone, even Peter. Please. It’s just between you and me, ok?”

His face didn’t move. His expression didn’t so much as flicker. It was completely still, slack jawed, then, “This is amazing.”

_What?_ The word formulated in her mind well before she managed to push it out.

Ned’s expression finally changed, and he was suddenly beaming. “You trust me with a secret!”

“Oh god.” Maybe it was a mistake confiding in him.

“No, no! It’s just, we’re like, real friends! We have a secret and you told _me_ of all people. Like, I’m just honored I guess.”

“Oh my _god_.” She didn’t know what else to say. “Just give me your word, Ned. Please?”

Ned bobbed his head, like a toddler. “Yeah-yeah-yeah, for sure. Yup.”

“Ok… good.” Her hand, which never left his forearm, finally detached. “Sorry. I should, uh, probably head into class.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He looked like he was about to explode. Michelle internally groaned.

Looking through the doorway, Michelle caught sight of Peter sitting at their normal table. As usual, his chin was tucked into his arms which were folded over the counter top. “Thanks, Ned. I’ll see you tonight for the movie then?”

Ned nodded, ready to head off to his next class. Michelle turned to head into her classroom.

“MJ?” Ned’s voice piped up after he started walking away. Michelle turned back. “You’re a pretty cool person. Just so you know.”

Michelle grinned. “Oh, I’m not just cool, Leeds. I’m a fucking delight.” Ned smiled back at her.

“I’ll see you tonight. Have fun in chemistry. Try not to screw up too much. Peter told me about your little explosion last class.”

Michelle answered him in the sweetest way she could: her middle finger over her shoulder as she walked into class.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter ended up not flaking out on Movie Night for the Stark Internship. Stark apparently didn’t need him tonight so Peter texted both Michelle and Ned using their group chat.

 

_Message from **Awesome Badass Losers** group chat:_

**_Peter Parker (6:32 pm):_ ** _guys i’m off early tonight soooooo movie night! WHOOP WHOOP! anyways may said we could do it here so show up at 9 if you’re cool with that_

Said text was the reason she was smashed between Ned and Peter on his couch. They were trying to annoy her enough for her to put down her book. They’d been, up until five minutes ago, too engrossed in Ned’s new Lego X-Wing to bother with Michelle. Michelle hadn’t minded though, there were worse ways to pass time then cuddled up on Peter’s insanely comfortable couch with a giant book. The worse ways were currently squeezing her like a vice, quietly giggling, as if she couldn’t hear them with their heads literally inches from hers. Ignoring the two idiots was her current plan, besides, she didn’t mind Peter sitting practically on her lap.

“I don’t get it.” Peter said as Ned finally broke into a stream of giggles. “ _How_ do you keep your face so serious? I’d have cracked like four minutes ago.” Peter threw his arms up, emphasizing his humored frustration.

Michelle told herself that his arm landing across the back of the couch behind her head didn’t distract her. She told herself not to focus on his fingers brushing her shoulder. “You wouldn’t last three seconds, you wear your emotions all over your face.”

“So, you don’t wear your emotions on your face? Because, I could swear you look pretty pissed right now.” His finger pointed at her mouth, inches from her lips.

 Michelle looked at his finger for a second, raising a brow. He got the message and retracted said finger. Her eyes traveled to his, boring into the creamy brown of his irises. “You wouldn’t be able to read me in a thousand years, Parker.” She said it as a challenge. Somewhere in her chest where the fire of him resided, she felt the flame burst higher. She wanted him to see the fire consuming her.

His Adams-apple quivered. The intensity of his gaze seemed to multiply. That was, until Ned’s stunned voice cut through. “Oh my _god_ …”

Peter’s head swung away from Michelle. “What? What’s wrong?” There wasn’t anything visibly wrong though. Ned looked absolutely flabbergasted, but other than that he seemed fine. It didn’t take Michelle long to figure it out.

Her eyes ballooned out, locking a sharp glare on Ned. “No, Ned.” Where his eyes had been filled with surprise, they were now consumed in fear. Peter was glancing between the both of them, trying to understand what the hell just happened.

“What?” Peter was still bouncing between looking at Michelle or Ned. Easily, he figured out that Ned was the weaker link. “Ned, bro, what’s up?”

“N-Nothing. It was nothing. I saw a spider.”

Agonized, Michelle threw her head back on the couch. She chose the worst liar to confide in. If Ned figured out what she thought he did, she needed a cover and fast. “You are the _worst_ , Ned, I swear to God.” Her phone was by him on the arm of the couch, where she’d put it before both Peter and Ned had sandwiched her. “You went through my phone and saw the picture of my dress, didn’t you?”

Ned looked just as surprised as Peter, they collectively backed away from her a few inches.  Facing away from Peter, Michelle told Ned to play along with nothing more than a look. It dawned in his eyes before he spoke, “Wh-What? I did not!”

“You did! Give me my phone, I’ll find out for myself.”

“No! I mean—fine, yes. It’s just I’m still curious, and I wanted to see.” He paused, and Michelle had to give him credit for his better than expected acting performance. It wasn’t amazing, but it got the job done. “Please don’t kill me.”

She turned away from him, externally fuming and internally thanking God that she managed to stop Ned in his tracks. “I swear, Leeds, you’re too nosey for your own—” She was cut off.

There was a knock at the door, prompting Peter to hop over the back of the couch like he was a master gymnast on a pommel horse. He answered the door with gusto, and the person Michelle figured to be their typical forty-year-old, completely-over-life pizza delivery man was the total opposite. Standing in a coat so perfectly white she looked like an angel was Gwen Stacy, there to ruin Michelle’s happiness. Her hair was a halo of natural platinum blonde, straight as an arrow around her face. Her headband was black against her hair and it was such a stupidly beautiful contrast that Michelle glowered into her book. She was lucky enough to look away before Gwen and Peter kissed, or hugged, or whatever it was they did when they saw each other.

As Peter was helping Gwen out of her coat, Ned hissed in Michelle’s ear. “Do you like Peter?” Michelle’s reflexes caused her hand to come up and slap Ned’s face away from her ear. His hand cradled his cheek, his big puppy-dog eyes offended.

Her eyes, however, were glued to her book, which she found she couldn’t continue reading anymore. “Ned, I swear to God, if you say anything I will personally come into your room when you’re sleeping, use your hobbit sword to cut your tongue out, and then smack you with it.” From the corner of her eye she could see Peter and Gwen talking about something at the door. They were ridiculously close for what any type of conversation required.

Michelle considered throwing up.

“Firstly,” Ned brought her attention back to the matter at hand. He was still incredibly close to her face. “You’re violent and should see someone about your anger issues.” She glared, he ignored. “Second, I’m gonna take that violent answer as a yes. In which case I’m going to totally wing-man it up for you.”

Peter and Gwen were breaking from their conversation, ready to come over to the couch, so Michelle bit out her reply to Ned so quickly she wasn’t sure if he understood it. “Don’t do anything, you’re not even supposed to know, besides he has a girlfriend so shut up and make it look like we’re talking about something else.”

“Hey guys, I know I didn’t tell you, but I figured Gwen could join us for Movie Night.” Peter said.

Michelle nodded, looking back to her book instead of at Ned. “Cool.” She said.

Ned just nodded dumbly. Michelle could only roll her eyes. He really was the worst at keeping secrets. He took her elbow to the gut with a grunt before speaking up. “Yeah, no, that’s great! We’re deciding what to watch right now.”

“They haven’t even started.” Michelle chimed in.

The couch cushions displaced when Gwen sat down, crossing her legs. “That’s fine! More time to hang out!” Michelle ignored her and instead let Ned be the friendly one. He switched to Michelle’s opposite side and started talking to Gwen about something that Michelle didn’t care about.

Peter had ended up behind the couch talking to May who had been in and out of the living room tidying up the space. Michelle didn’t even know how long May had been puttering around at the bookshelf before now.

Peter was talking about getting food, Gwen was talking to Ned about Prom, and Michelle was in the middle, trying not to think about how close Peter’s loser face had been to hers and instead pretended to read. She also tried not to think about the way he had looked at her, which, in all reality, she was most likely blowing way out of proportion.

“Michelle!” It was Gwen and her perky, friendly voice. Michelle merely looked up in response. Nobody should have as perfect a smile as Gwen had. “Ned and I were talking about Prom and it sounds so exciting. Aren’t you excited.” Bless her soul, Michelle knew Gwen was trying to be nice. It only made Michelle hate her more.

Michelle sighed, ready to launch into her anti-prom speech. “Prom is—”

“—A fun and exciting event that she’s so happy to be going to. Right, MJ.” Peter interrupted as he hands clapped down on her shoulders.

Michelle shrugged him off. “Not what I was about to say, but sure.”

Peter smirked down at her. “Oh, sorry. I think MJ was going to tell us about this guy she has a crush on, the one that’s gonna be at prom?” Michelle snarled up at Peter. “That’s what you were talking about right?” Michelle glowered at Peter, who merely smirked in return.

Gwen pounced on Michelle, literally. She flung herself across Ned and bounced next to Michelle on the cushion. “Oh my God! I knew it!” Michelle paid full attention to Gwen for the first time since she arrived. Michelle didn’t know what Gwen thought, but Michelle hoped that her secret wasn’t in jeopardy of blowing up in her face.  Ned had a similar look on his face to how Michelle was feeling. Gwen laughed, smacking Michelle’s arm. “I _knew_ there was something going on with you and Ned.”

At that moment there was an assortment of different sounds. Michelle felt like she was going to scream from a mixture of shock, confusion, and relief, but a grunt was all that pushed through her lips. Ned sounded like he was going to throw up a lung from coughing so hard. And Peter sounded like he was choking on his tongue.

Through coughs, Ned managed a few words. “MJ? M-Me?” More coughing. “No, th-that’s—”

Gwen’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropping open. “Oh—I’m sorry! I just assumed,” Gwen’s eyes glanced to Peter, who was still standing behind MJ looking beyond stunned. She was sure her face echoed his. “I just thought, because you—no offense, Michelle—you just don’t seem to like many people and Ned is the only person besides Peter that you actually seem to like. You’ve just always seemed interested in them. And then you and Ned snuck off during lunch today. You guys always go to dances together. It just seemed like it was either Ned or Peter, and Peter’s never seemed overly interested and I figured Ned seemed like the more logical option for you. I just assumed—”

The wound where ‘ _Peter’s never seemed overly interested’_ hit Michelle would bleed for hours to come, but she couldn’t let it bleed at this moment. And she was going to completely ignore the ' _more logical option'_ portion of what Gwen said because there were too many layers to how rude that had been to both Ned and Michelle.

Michelle had one of two options at this point. Number one, was to tell the truth and say that she didn’t like Ned, in which all the evidence would be stacked up showing that maybe she didn’t like Ned, but the only other person she didn’t hate was Peter. That would only lead down a road she wasn’t ready to follow. Option number two was to take the bullet and agree with Gwen and buy herself more time to figure out exactly how to get herself out of this mess. Or, she could brush it off as some stupid joke, like she did everything else. “I don’t see why any of this matters. It’s my life. You guys should get your own sometime.”

Gwen seemed ready to back down, Michelle took it as a victory until Peter chimed in, “Do you though?” His eyes were fragile when she looked at him. They made anything she was about to say seem inadequate. “Are you and Ned—are you together?” His voice was quiet.

She felt cornered. She knew Peter, and she knew he’d continue to press the issue, because for some reason she could tell this meant something to him. Option one and two flashed in her mind again. Words left her lips before she could question what she was about to admit. “Yes.” Her voice was so small when she answered. The room hushed, and Michelle was almost certain that Ned stopped breathing for a few seconds. She swallowed past her instant regret, tried not to look at Peter because some part of his eyes looked like they’d been hollowed out. Michelle commanded her usual cool tone again. She shot up from the couch. Everyone was staring at her. Aunt May’s compassionate gaze almost broke her. “Yeah, we are,” Michelle said, voice on the verge of boiling over. “Are you guys happy now?” Michelle started toward the door, leaving her book and bag behind. All she wanted was some air, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. The scream still trapped in her chest was burning a hole through the skin. “I’m going to go outside. Unless you losers want to ask about when I got my first period? Or maybe you can dig into why my Dad isn’t around? You know what? Why don’t I just give you my social security number, then you can take your pick of every other personal detail I choose not to share because it’s _my_ business and mine alone.”

She plowed out of the door, ignoring when Gwen tried to apologize, or Ned’s hand wrapped around her wrist. She kept walking when Peter called out to her, the sound of his feet starting to move, but he was silenced by May’s words, which followed Michelle down the hallway. “Leave her, Peter. She needs space.”

Michelle didn’t just need space though. She needed a goddamn universe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys thanks again for reading! :) If you want more updates on info about the story, please head over to my Tumblr account theadorablespiderman and use #THE-ADORABLE-SPIDERMAN HAIR FIC to get all my posted info and updates!


	3. Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a fire the ashes remain, alone and deserted. And Peter always hated being alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 3 IS UP! My gosh, everyone has been so amazing and supportive of this story! I do want to apologize for how long this chapter took to complete, so thank you all for sticking it out! This chapter is gonna be a long one so I hope you guys enjoy! You guys can also read the fic here on AO3.
> 
> Big shout out to my amazing [Beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mialeave/pseuds/mialeave).  
> She's been absolutely amazing and being such an awesome help this chapter! Seriously, look this girl up because she’s fabulous!

* * *

 

 

**Ash**

Peter had never been the type of person who enjoyed being alone. After he’d come to live with May and Ben when he was little, May had said he’d barely ever left their side. They’d cleared Ben’s office out to make a room just for Peter. He never slept in it. He’d slept with them for a year until they started prodding him to his own bed. He’d hated it. The night always was far to silent, too easy to disrupt. Without his Aunt May’s steady breaths brushing his neck or Uncle Ben’s snores right in his ear, he couldn’t _know_ that they were safe. Bad things happened to people, and if he wasn’t there to stop the bad things, how could they be safe?

Maybe he thought he was stronger than he was, but every car-ride, every place they went, he needed to be right there beside them. Peter made himself sick with worry when they’d leave him with a babysitter. He’d sit on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring or a knock on the door. The sounds that changed his life so easily, so suddenly, before May and Ben.

As he grew older—wiser—the anxieties faded, but never left. He spent more time with Ned, but not once did he sleep over like other kids did. Peter couldn’t be away from May and Ben for that long. He was convinced something would happen to them. He needed to make sure that, whatever that thing was, it could never hurt them.

Once he hit his teenage years, Peter was able to function normally. He did his school work while Ben tinkered with old computers. Sometimes, Ben would let Peter help once he got all of his work done. They’d watch movies as a family nearly every night, half the time with Ned included. When the nights came to a close, Peter slept in his own bed, rarely worrying about a faceless threat to Aunt May or Uncle Ben.

After the spider-bite, Peter found his anxieties nearly quelled. Ned and him had sleepovers. He went to parties. He lived the life of a teenage boy.

Peter had been at a party the night Uncle Ben died. His uncle had gone out to the nearest store for milk and never come back. The police had quickly caught the man responsible. He’d still had blood on his shirt when they found him, and yet he never confessed to the crime. When asked, he wouldn’t give information. Nobody really knew how everything had progressed, or how the confrontation ended so tragically. All they knew was that Ben been stabbed in the chest, and when the police had found his body an hour later, his wallet had been missing.

Peter knew damn well that if he’d been there, the way he would have been any other night, he would have been able to stop it. It wasn’t a _what if_ question. He _knew_ that if he’d been there, his uncle would still be alive.

Spider-Man was born of the loss and loneliness that came following Ben’s death. If Peter could save people, put criminals behind bars, he could make sure nobody had to suffer the losses he’d suffered in his life. If he could just be like Iron Man or any of the Avengers, he could keep the bad things from happening. He never felt isolated again; he threw himself into Spiderman instead. Alone wasn’t something he could feel when he was helping old ladies with directions, stopping arms dealers, or trying to prove himself to Mr. Stark. He couldn’t possibly feel the void when he was helping to keep others from experiencing it.

So, when _it_ happened, he couldn’t cope. Turning to ash— _dying_ —it had been all too real, too much.

He had never experienced a pain so intense that it felt like he was being ripped apart by a fire. Fire that consumed organs and bones. It charred his skin until there was nothing left but ash, carried away in a breath of wind.

The pain wasn’t the worst part of it. Begging Mr. Stark to save him wasn’t what gave Peter nightmares—it was the loneliness that followed.

Others had described the Soul Stone as comforting. They said it was harmonious, that they never really missed home while they were there. Peter didn’t know what that was like. He’d spent hours, months, decades alone. Completely and utterly alone. He was confined to his room, just beyond his windows an endless plane of water the same golden color as the sky.

The people that were still alive, the people that _needed_ him were unprotected. He couldn’t leave his damn room, and everyone he loved was either gone, or unreachable. Not knowing anything about how, or where, they were destroyed him.

Confined to the four falls of his room, an island on the water in total isolation, Peter spent days, years, or maybe even minutes—he’d never know—waiting for Iron Man to save him. He waited because he was scared, and a kid, and sometimes he needed to be saved instead of vice versa. Over what felt like an eon he tried every possible way out of the room. Nothing would budge: the window stayed intact, the walls survived his beatings, and the door remained unmovable. Eventually he spiraled into despair. The inferno urging him on turned to nothing more than ash as he spend more unmeasurable time in silence, utterly desolate.

When his soul was pulled back, the first thing Peter saw was the warm, swimming eyes of Tony Stark, and he knew he was home. Peter had cried, sobbed, because he wouldn’t spend eternity rotting away, wondering if the people he loved were safe and if he could have ever saved them.

Peter had come back, back to where he could feel the heat of the sun on his face, and the chill whisper of rain as it rolled down his neck. There was warmth when he heard MJ laugh, and calm when Aunt May sang. There was passion when he saved civilians, and happiness from joking with Ned.

The memories were ones he repressed, and Peter never talked about his time in the Soul Stone. Peter actively forced down the panic when he found himself alone in his room as it glowed gold when the sun set in the sky. He forced down the anxiety when May left for the store and Ned canceled plans. Forcing it all away was better. It was selfish of him to dwell on the ash or the island—the pain and the isolation—when so many others had suffered worse fates at the hands of Thanos. Others would give up the earth and sun to have a miracle like his.

For the past twenty-four hours, however, the welling panic of desertion continually forced its way into Peter’s thoughts. He knew why the anxiety was slowly building, tangling knots and snarls in his chest. It wasn’t a mystery to him why he felt the singe of desolation coiling in his abdomen.

One day—a total of eleven and a half hours—ago, MJ had stormed out of his apartment, after confirming that she and Ned were romantically involved. He hadn’t heard from Michelle since. Which may not sound unusual, if it weren’t for the fact that she had made a habit of texting him in the middle of the night, just to wake him up with random memes. He’d slept through the night, much to his concern. Her lack of communication had only served to water the seed of Peter’s anxiety. The loneliness spread far beyond just that. His two best friends had been a couple for god knows how long and had seemingly kept it a secret behind his back.

Peter ignored a fleeting moment of scathing bitterness when he saw Ned leaning against his locker waiting for him. Strolling up and throwing a strained pleasantry to the shorter boy, Peter worked on opening his locker, stalling so as not to have meet Ned’s eyes. The blue paint around the lock was chipping, showing muted metal underneath.

“Hey.” Ned began, a weary tremor in his voice. “So, uh—do you know if MJ is ok?”

Peter yanked his physics textbook from his locker, his eyes fixated on the cover, still unwilling to look at Ned. “I was going to ask you the same question.” The malice in his voice was nothing like his usual tone. Guilt panged in his stomach, but he said nothing to rectify the statement. He only turned, finally looking at his best friend, the same best friend who had shared every secret with him since elementary school. It felt like he was staring at a stranger. _How many times had he kissed MJ?_ Peter blinked the abrupt thought away. It didn’t matter. At least that was what he told himself.

He and Ned started navigating through the hordes of students. Peter wouldn’t admit it, but he was still attempting to avoid looking at Ned. “I figured you’d know if she’s ok.” It was his lame attempt at diffusing the tension, even if there was still a small bite to his statement.

Ned shuffled between a few cheerleaders before catching back up with Peter’s brisk stride. “Why would—Oh right. Um, yeah. She hasn’t talked to me.”

“So how long has, uh—you know, _it_ been going on?” The words stumbled off his lips, half of him not wanting to know, while the other _really_ did. The question had been burning the corners of Peter’s brain since MJ had said _yes_ to his question last night. When he’d asked if she and Ned were an item.

Ned slipped next to him. Peter threw his arm out, steadying him. “W-What?” Taking the opportunity to meet his eyes for the first time, Peter silently asked what he couldn’t bear to aloud. _Why had they never told him? Why had they kept it a secret? Just, **why?**_

Peter smiled reassuringly, trying to be genuine and focus on being happy for them, if only shortly. “I’m just curious, Ned. I had no idea.” His head gestured for them to continue.

“Um, not long. It’s a, well—um—It’s’a still a’pretty new.” Ned’s voice turned into a horrible Mario impression, obviously trying to lighten to mood.

“Seriously? I’a know you can’a do a’better than that.” Peter glanced back at Ned while they walked through the door to first period. The ghost of his smile was still on his face. For a moment they fell back into their usual rhythm, until Peter’s nagging brain grew unsatisfied, wanting answers that weren't vague deflections hidden in the guise of the Italian plumber.

“Anyways, it’s new then?” Peter once again prodded, hoping for an actual answer. His carefree, happy friend instead looked like he had hidden a body. “Hey, you ok?”

Ned answered while they took their seats at the front corner of the classroom. “Yeah. No, I’m cool. I’m fresh. It’s all good.” His smile was wobbling, strained.

Seeing Ned flustered wasn’t unusual. He rambled more times than Peter could count. This time was different though. If Peter knew any better, he would have thought that Ned was hiding something.

“Did you just say that you’re _fresh_?” Peter’s smile broke through for just a moment. Ned’s vernacular never ceased to amuse Peter. “But seriously, what’s going—”

The warning bell cut through the air, effectively cutting off Peter’s conversation with Ned. People who hadn’t already filed into class began pouring in. Flash was among them, he smacked into Peter’s shoulder on his way to the back of the class. “‘Sup, Penis Parker?” Ignoring Flash had become habit, but it didn’t stop Peter’s temper from rising particularly quickly.

“You’d think someone that’s as smart as you claim to be would be able to come up with a better insult.” It was neither Ned or Peter who had spoken. MJ had come through the doors, slipping through people like silk. She walked directly past Peter and Ned, not even acknowledging their existence.

“Shut up, MJ.” Flash snarled.

“Wow, another stellar response from the resident dip-shit.” Her voice was her usual cool melody.

MJ had wrangled her hair into a ponytail, a drastic contrast to the bouncing mess of tangles she’d sported the day before. Her face was composed and her eyes their normal, critical selves. She looked the opposite of the rolling anger Peter experienced just the night before as she’d stormed out his apartment. The rays of the morning sun bounced off of her cheeks and nose. Her deadly eyes turned copper in the sun, glaring down at Flash, MJ was as indifferent as always. Instead of turning around and sitting next to Peter—on his left side as always—she slouched into the unclaimed corner seat in the back of the room.

The seat was broken, which was why no one sat in it. Peter knew she was pissed, but he didn’t think she was _that_ pissed.

He turned in his seat. She’d taken her sketchbook out; her hand was already flitting around the page. “MJ,” Peter couldn’t say anything else before the final bell rang and the physics teacher came bounding into class, already shouting out the page numbers to open their books to.

Throughout class, Peter desperately tried to get MJ’s attention. He had absolutely no idea what he would do once he got it, but he wanted to see her steely gaze just to verify that he wasn’t invisible. Never once did she look up.

Half-way through the lecture on nuclear fusion, Peter turned to Ned, who was busy scrawling notes over the page. “Dude, how can you read that?” It was all a jumbled mess of ink and maybe hieroglyphics. How the obscure text translated into something, Peter had no idea. Ned opened his mouth, ready to reply, but Peter didn’t bother waiting for it. That wasn’t what he cared about anyway. “Why isn’t MJ sitting with us?”

Ned’s head remained down, his hand furiously producing more notes. “Maybe she wants space?” He glanced up to the whiteboard. Peter found it odd that Ned wasn’t even gracing him with a sidelong glance.

“Shouldn’t you know, though?” Catching another glimpse of MJ over his shoulder—her head bent down with her bangs shielding her face from view—Peter felt his breath catch somewhere behind his sternum. Her hair was a haloed brunette-copper, a realization of celestial beauty. _Why was her hair so perfect?_

“Know what?” Ned’s response brought Peter’s attention careening back to reality. The reality in which he had just been making googly eyes for his best friend, who happened to be dating his other best friend.

Clearing the knot that was forming into a stone in his chest, Peter distracted himself with copying down the notes he had abandoned while he had been focusing on MJ. “I’d think that since you guys are, well, you know—” The stone was impeding the word from taking shape. He deserted the words all together, clearing his throat. “I just thought you’d know why she would decide to sit in the Broke-Back-Mountain chair instead of by us.” The way in which the desk had acquired that name was too long, and too graphic, of a story to tell.

Ned snuck a look over to MJ, as did Peter. She was shifting in the cracked seat, looking uncomfortable. Her eyes momentarily flitted from her notebook up to Ned. She completely ignored Peter. Peter didn’t even have enough time to form her name on his lips before her eyes flitted away, latching attention onto her notebook. Her gaze never wavered back their way.

“I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just having an ‘MJ’ day.” On some days, rarely, and out of the blue, MJ would barely talk to Peter and Ned. Peter always felt like she’d gotten trapped in that brain of hers and couldn’t find her way out. There was always a dazed, introspective look to her. But she never actively ignored them.

Peter turned back, clenching his jaw. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

When the bell rang Peter fought against the rush of students stampeding toward the door, wanting to catch MJ before she left. However, her newly found spot was empty, much to Peter’s surprise. Broke-Back-Mountain stood alone. Peter whipped his head toward the door, at a loss for words. _How_ had she managed to sneak to the front without him noticing? Yet, there she was. The shoulder of her leather jacket was peeking through the crowd, her hair floating like a cloud over her head.

“MJ, wait up.” Peter was hurtling desks to close the distance. He needed her to see him, to listen to him. She needed to understand how badly he felt about the previous night. “MJ! Hey, come on, wait up!” When she ignored him yet again, Peter groaned, following her out the door. “MJ?” She wasn’t in the hall when he emerged from the classroom. Her mess of waves and curls had completely vanished.

Ned appeared next to Peter holding the boy’s forgotten backpack out to him. Aimlessly, Peter accepted the strap of his bag, swinging it onto his back.

It felt like a small part of his chest had fluttered away into ash.

 

* * *

 

Decathlon practice had yet to be canceled. Peter took this as a good sign, seeing as MJ was the captain of the team. Both Ned and Peter headed to sixth period in silence. Ned had been acting odd all day, and Peter was still trying to understand why MJ was upset enough to not even be talking to him, much less Ned, her _boyfriend_. No matter how many times that word rolled around in Peter’s head regarding Michelle and Ned, it never felt right.

There was no conversation between the two as they weaved through the hallway. Peter braced his hands on the straps of his backpack, trying to gently approach the topic that he so desperately wanted more answers to. Answers about the one and only Michelle Jones, who, over the course of twenty-four hours, had become a complete enigma. “So, why do you think MJ’s so mad?”

“Seriously, Peter?” The exasperation in Ned’s voice wasn’t unearned. Peter had been subtly prodding all day. _Not so subtly_.

Peter responded with a shrug of his shoulders, flashing a quick closed-mouth smile, feigning innocence. “I’m just wondering.” Ned looked completely unconvinced. Peter dropped the act, his face shattering into an anxiousness that was slowly spiraling out of control. “I mean, I get why she’s upset. I didn’t think she’d be _this_ mad though.”

Ned pushed open the doors to the library, turning to head into the private study rooms where they met for decathlon practices. “We all kept digging into her love life after she told us not to. She got mad at me for pushing during lunch, and then you and Gwen kept asking her questions. Can you blame her?”

Peter stopped short outside of the study room. Through the windows he could see Flash leaning back in his chair and Cindy going over notes with Abe. MJ was nowhere to be seen.

Right before Ned closed his hand over the door knob, Peter’s full attention latched to the boy. “Wait, why were you poking around at lunch yesterday?”

There were more than a few things Peter knew about Ned. One of the defining things about his best friend was that he was not good under pressure. “What do you mean? What makes you think I was poking around?”

“Stop answering my questions with more questions, Dude!” The librarian a few bookcases over leaned her head into the open to shush them. Peter lowered his voice to a strained whisper. “You’ve been doing that all day.”

Ned’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Why are you so interested, anyways?”

“Why are _you_ not? She’s your—” The word still wouldn’t crest past the stone. “Well, you know.”

“I am worried about her. But she probably wants space. As she explained to me yesterday, sometimes girls just need time to think.”

“When did she say that?”

“After she stormed out of the lunchroom.” Ned said.

“And why did she storm out of the lunchroom?” Peter set the bait.

Ned took it. “Because I was digging into her love life, at lunch, just like you and Gwen did last night!” Another shush from the librarian. Ned’s ears turned minutely darker, blushing.

“My question is, why would _you_ be digging into MJ’s love life.”

_Checkmate_. Peter could feel it, something was going to happen. Ned looked on the verge of cracking when a voice sliced through Peter’s mind and body. “Can you move?” It was authoritative with none of the usual malice.

When Peter flipped around, there, in her shining glory, was MJ. Three academic decathlon study guides were hooked by her left arm against her chest. Hanging from her opposite shoulder was her bag, riddled with patched holes and broken zippers. Her face was cold, the depth of her eyes closed off, housing emotion so controlled Peter couldn’t tell if there was any left. Maybe she’d used them all up the night before.

MJ elbowed past Peter and Ned, throwing open the doors to the study room. Peter and Ned stumbled in after her. “MJ—”

“Alright! It looks like everyone’s here—”

“Mr. Harrington’s not here.” Flash interjected.

“Flash, I _swear_ to God.” The animosity in her voice was enough to shut Flash up. It was enough to scare Peter.

MJ situated herself at the table in the center of the room, right in between Cindy and newcomer Alexa.  “Anyways,” MJ continued, controlling her voice, yet again, into her usual aloof tone. “We have the first qualifying meet for Nationals this weekend. We need to hit this one hard if we want any chance of defending our National title this October. I’ve printed up the quiz sheets. They’re color coded by subject. Answer sheets are stapled on the back.” She slapped a stack of papers on the table and continued. Her devotion to organized study guides was something the team was used to at this point. “Okay,” She clapped her hands. “Let’s run some drills.”

There was literally no opportunity for Peter to get a word in. She kept the meeting packed with non-stop questions and drills. She never picked Peter to do any. She called Flash in every time. _Flash_. Peter could tell everyone thought it was odd, but no one was willing to call her out on it. She looked like she had just killed twenty people and buried the bodies.

Sixth period eventually came to an end. Peter tried yet again to get a word in with MJ. She was just as elusive as he was persistent and managed to slip away yet again.

Peter elbowed Ned. “Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

Ned rolled his eyes, muttering something about ‘stupid love’ before following her nonetheless.

“Wait, did you say ‘ _love_ ’?” The stone in Peter’s chest exploded to the size of a boulder. Ned never responded, already taking off after MJ, not hearing Peters quiet whisper.  

Peter stood, a feeling of desolation creeping along his skin.

 

* * *

 

Ned plopped down next to where Peter was sitting against the wall of the hallway. Two days of MJ avoiding Peter had passed, and today was the decathlon meet.

Ned handed Peter a breakfast sandwich still wrapped in paper. Peter blindly accepted it, his eyes still glued to the study guide in his lap. “Thanks.” He deftly unwrapped the sandwich and took a large bite.

“What happened to your face?” Ned tucked into his own sandwich, eyeing the bruise that had bloomed across Peter’s eye. “Don’t you have like, healing powers or something?”

Peter quickly shushed Ned. “It’s not ‘healing powers’, it’s enhanced healing.” Again, concentrating on the study guide, his lips pressed into a thin line. “A mugger punched me.” The smirk in his friend’s voice caused Peter’s shoulders to sag.

“You swung into a building, didn’t you?”

“Maybe just a little.” Peter replied

The snicker shielded behind Ned’s hand was the only response.

“It’ll hopefully be gone in a few hours.” Peter stated.

“Must’ve hit pretty hard.”

Peter folded up his study guide and tucked it into his bag. “So, have you talked to MJ?” For the past two days Peter had been asking the same question, with the same result. Each time Ned replied, Peter’s chest constricted farther. He found asking somewhat doused the blistering fire ravaging the cage of his ribs. Each day, he snuck more questions about MJ and Ned into conversation, hoping Ned would take the bait. Peter told himself he was only being inquisitive, told himself that the flame licking his interior was nothing more than curiosity.

“Actually, yeah,” Peter’s eyes zipped over to Ned’s, searching to find any extra information. “She answered the phone last night.”

Peter’s entire body pivoted towards Ned. He was up on his haunches now, ready to pounce. Grabbing Ned’s shoulders, Peter pulled him the smallest bit closer. “Well, what did she say?”

The natural almond shape of Ned’s eyes rounded. The shoulders beneath Peter’s increasing grip, stiffened. “Uh, nothing much. We just talked.” From the pitch of his voice, Peter found Ned’s statement unconvincing.

“Dude, you know I can tell when you’re lying right?”

Ned shrugged himself out of Peter’s hold. “Well, we did. We talked. That’s what people do on the phone.”

“ _What_ did you talk about?” Peter’s felt like all heat in his chest was aimed into lasers cutting Ned open.

Ned scrapped his teeth along his lip. His eyes broke away from Peter, all cylinders firing. “I, uh—I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” And then, the most horrific reasoning shot into Peter’s brain, as violently as possible. Maybe they’d not talked about the fight at all. Maybe, they’d talked about _intimate_ things. _Oh god_. “Were you guys talking about—” His tongue suffered some type of temporary paralysis. He muddled through, forcing out the next words. “—like, sexual stuff?”

It was the first time Peter had seen Ned turn totally red. It wasn’t just a slight coloration under his dark skin. No, he was confident saying there was a full blush taking hold of his friend’s entire face. “No! Oh my god, no. That’s just—ugh,” His body managed a quiet shiver. “That’s so not what happened. That’s just gross.” He was still shaking his head, face blown into utter shell-shock.

Peter recoiled. “What _did_ you say then?”

Ned, still reeling from Peters question, took a large chunk out of the breakfast sandwich dangling in his hand. “No. I mean, MJ’s great and all, don’t get me wrong. Super pretty, nice when she wants to be. But no, I’m just not into her that way and—” He froze in the middle of his sentence, mid chew on his sandwich. Peter could see the sense of doom crawling over his friend’s face. Something horrific was playing behind his eyes.

“Hold on, what?” Peter managed. There was a concoction of dangerous emotions welling up around his lungs, causing the air suck in. He hated to feel so relieved, Ned had sounded so dismissive to MJ, she didn’t deserve that. But then again, Peter had never known Ned to be so heartless with other’s feelings. It was like a frenzy. The fire was lighting in so many places across Peter’s body. Electricity felt like it was crackling in the air.

On the other hand, Ned looked completely shell-shocked. War veterans may have thought the poor kid had gone through some gruesome battle with the empty, terrified expression he wore. When his breathing picked up after it’s momentary pause, two small words wheezed out of his lips, “Oh shit.”

“What do you mean, Ned? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Peter tried again, not willing to let this opportunity slip him by. Ned had been acting weird ever since the secret came out about MJ and him. “What’s going on, dude? Seriously, you can tell me. Just what’s going on with you and MJ? Why aren’t you talking to me about it? You haven’t told me anything.”

Ned stood up, clearing his throat, searching for a way to escape. Peter could see the flight response in his eyes. “MJ has been all we’ve been talking about for the past two days.”

“No, you’ve been avoiding all of my questions. What aren’t you telling me?”

Ned glanced down the hall, chuckling. “You know, I think I dropped my study guide down the hall.” He tried to slip past Peter. Peter caught him by the arm, the momentum swinging them around. Somewhere behind them Flash made some lame joke about them dancing together.

Peter, hand clasped around Ned’s arm, begged him silently to talk to him. “Look, it sucks that you and MJ didn’t tell me about your relationship. I thought we were friends and you guys have totally shut me out and it’s seriously freaking me out. I just want to know what’s going on. Please, just, don’t shut me out.” Peter let his hand drop from Ned’s arm, too tired to fight the crush of desertion as he spoke what had been boiling under the surface for days.

There was a moment of silence, of understanding between the two. Ned was the first to break it, a sharp breath sucked in before he spoke. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” A smile stretched across Ned’s lips. Not the reaction Peter was expecting. “You’re totally digging MJ.”

“ _What_? No. That’s not what’s—No. I’m not into—She’s your girlfriend. That’s just—” It just wasn’t true. MJ was his friend, just a friend. So, what if she had incredible hair, or soothing eyes? And, yeah, maybe he loved it when she watched Star Wars with him and her arm touched his just slightly, but Peter _definitely_ didn’t love her. Peter didn’t love how when she looked into his eyes it was like he had never known loneliness. He, for sure, didn’t love that when she sang under her breath she captured the world’s attention with her melody. He didn’t think it was amazing that her hard exterior could handle anything the world threw at her, and it definitely wasn’t his favorite thing about her. Peter didn’t love Michelle, didn’t like her in any way beyond a platonic kinship. There was no way he had feelings for his sharp, sarcastic, and intelligently annoying friend. No way that he secretly loved that her style was a kaleidoscope of weirdness, or when her hair was secured to her head or floated around in natural coils. There was just no possible way that Peter felt that way about Michelle Jones.

“Peter, you’re awesome and all, but sometimes you’re actually really stupid.” Ned’s words broke Peter from his stupor. Ned was only smirking at him, no signs of betrayal that his best friend liked his girlfriend. Suddenly the anxiety, the fire in Peter’s chest, made so much more sense. The light bulb flickered on. Peter felt the realization crash into him. The circuitry in his brain fired and sparked. “Oh, dear god.” He tried to gauge Ned’s response. “I’m—I think... What am I gonna tell Gwen? Oh god, Ned, I’m so sorry.” He was frantically gesturing, as though to show just how sorry he was.

Ned reassured him with a calming smile. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You’re dating MJ. How is this not a big deal to you?”

Sighing, Ned rolled his eyes. “Dude, did it ever occur to you that maybe MJ and I aren’t dating?”

Peter stopped. “No, Ned. That was not something that crossed my mind.” Peter kept his voice level, but his brain was raging. “Wha—why would she say you guys are a couple then?”

Ned waved down the hallway, a smile breaking on his face. “Hey, MJ.” Peter jerked his head over to look. Walking down the hall, the light from the windows dancing across one side of her face, was MJ. Her teeth bit aggressively into the apple in her hand, and she raised her brows in greeting. “Maybe, she just wanted people to stop asking so many questions.” Ned answered under his breath as she approached.

“Alright Losers,” MJ said as she pulled open the door to the practice room. “Let’s hit the drills one last time. We’ve got three hours before we need to check in.”

Mr. Harrington, who had been awaiting MJ outside the practice room with everyone else, sighed. “Michelle, how many times do I have to tell you not to address the team as ‘Losers’.”

Ned pushed the still miffed Peter into the room after the rest of the team. Peter glimpsed MJ moving the table around and setting up the chairs on one side. “It’s just a simple team motivation strategy, Mr. Harrington. Makes them work harder.” She shot him an innocent smile and Peter thought maybe the room had exploded. There was no excuse as to why it took him so long to notice how his fingers and toes seemed to tingle around MJ, or how her smile caused his chest to swell.

“Bro, pull yourself together. Stop staring before it gets weird.” Ned hissed in his ear.

Peter blinked a few times, effectively cutting off his wandering thoughts. “MJ, do you think—”

“Alexa, you’re going to be put in for the competition. Justin can’t make it.” MJ’s eyes were focused on the study sheet in her hands. She marked something on the paper before shoving the pen behind her ear.

Flash scoffed. “Are you serious, Michelle? She’s brand new. I’ve been on the team for a year.”

Scowling, MJ turned to look at Flash. “Maybe it's because I don’t want to screw this up. You’ve never answered a single question during competition. And what you _do_ answer during practice is wrong half the time.”

Flash started complaining to Mr. Harrington.

Peter turned to Ned. “Why is she still so pissed at me? You said she talked to you.”

“I told you, I can’t tell you.” Ned shrugged off his bag. “Just try talking to her yourself.”

Laughing quietly, Peter dropped his own bag to the floor. “Right, I never thought about that. How silly of me.” His eyes were murderous. Ned only shrugged before taking his seat at the table.

“The next person to talk is going to end up with a leather boot up their ass.” MJ wasn’t looking at Peter, but he snapped his jaw shut nevertheless. Peter plopped in next to Ned, shooting daggers his way.

From his chair behind MJ, Mr. Harrington let out a long, tired sigh. “ _Michelle_ , no threatening the team, and _please_ watch your language.”

“Sorry,” She cleared her throat, readying her papers. “Alright. Economics. If the money multiplier equals eight, the reserve ratio equals?”

 

* * *

 

Quarter to one o’clock, the team started to get ready to head backstage. Everyone was placing their cell phones and study guides into their bags, some of them sliding back into their bright yellow coats. Peter slid past Ned and dropped his sheet and phone into his bag.

MJ was marking something else on her study guide in the spot she’d been standing throughout the practice. When she placed the pen between her teeth, folding the paper neatly, Peter lightly pushed her by the small of her back out of the room.

“What the hell?” When they were in the hallway, tucked away in a classroom doorway, she elbowed his hand off her back.

Her glare was piercing, but Peter’s was growing with intensity too. The burning anxiousness that had been creating hopeless ash over the past two days burst into anger. “I could ask you the same thing.” His voice hissed, his words a snake, leaking the venom that had been shut inside him for days. He stepped closer, eyes just barely having to glare up at her. If she were barefoot she’d be the same height as him, but her clunky boots always gave her the advantage. “You’ve been ignoring me for days. I’ve tried to talk to you and you didn’t listen. I’ve been worried. You can’t—” Peter managed a strangled breath, pushing back down the words he couldn’t say. The words that showed Peter Parker couldn’t handle three days of being ignored by her because he felt abandoned. Instead, he averted his eyes, trying to come up with the right words. “I’m sorry about the movie night. Gwen pushed and so did I, and you’re right, it’s nobody’s business. I was just curious who you liked, and when Gwen started asking about you and Ned. I thought you guys were a couple and didn’t tell me. I never wanted to make you so upset, but I just—I can’t keep wondering if you hate me over this. If you want to flush a year long friendship down the toilet because of one mistake that’s your decision, but I don’t agree with you on that. You just mean—”

“Peter, calm down.” Her voice, smooth, with just enough edge, brought him back. He realized he hadn’t really been seeing anything at all until her eyes enveloped his vision. The steady, unwavering, gaze that he’d been striving to connect with for days was now focused solely on him. Her hand reached over and gently squeezed his wrist, spreading a cool warmth up his arm. The feeling of desolation—of being the boy stuck forever in the prison of a room—was fading, floating away into the wind. “I’m not angry.” She still wore her dissociation from the world like a mask on her face, but it was just a mask. Peter could see the emotion brimming in her eyes. The guilt. “I was embarrassed. Really embarrassed, about letting everything boil over like that, and then yelling at you. I feel so bad about it.” She was fiddling with the paper still clutched in her hands.

This was one of the few times Peter saw MJ lacking her hardened exterior. He could see the uncertainty washing over her face. There was even the slightest blush kissing her nose and cheeks.

Peter crushed her into an embrace, his chin resting perfectly on the curve of her shoulder. Her body froze. In all the time Peter knew MJ, he couldn’t remember a time when they’d ever hugged. “I was so worried you’d never talk to me again.” MJ’s heart was beating against his chest and it was the most wonderful thing he’d experienced in his life. It was home. “Next time,” He spoke into her hair, which smelled like lavender, “I’d rather you yell at me for three days than ignore me.” She laughed against his shoulder, just a chuckle, but he felt it soothing the barbed knot that had been tightening in his throat.

“Fair enough, Loser.” When her slender arms wound around his shoulders, he was no longer grounded to the earth. He was grounded to her.

“Peter?” He knew the voice. He broke away from MJ, and if there had been a sound of their embrace breaking, it would’ve been a booming crack.

There Gwen stood, dressed in her Student Council sweater and a flowing tulle skirt that was the same cream color as her hair. Her eyes shot between Peter and MJ, calculating. “Gwen, hey. Uhm, MJ and I were just having a friendship moment there.” Guilt was clawing his stomach to shreds. He wasn’t planning on breaking up with her until after Prom. He wasn’t going to be the heartless dick who broke up with her a week before the biggest dance of the year.

Gwen smiled, her teeth perfectly straight and white against the peach coloring of her lips. Peter sensed no malice behind her smile. “I’m glad you guys made up.” She motioned her head down the hall, her fingers folding into both her pockets. “But the decathlon is about to start, and I’ve been tasked to come find you. So, you might want to book it in there.”

MJ stuffed the paper in her pocket. She glanced at the clock above the lockers on the opposite wall. It was five to one. “Oh, Shit!” MJ was already sprinting down the hall.

Gwen, with her hands hidden in her sweater, her smile turned into a sweet grin. The smallest drop of sadness in her eyes. Peter stepped toward her, reaching out. He wanted to explain, tell her that he didn’t know this would happen, that he didn’t want to hurt her. “Gwen—”

“It’s ok, Peter. We’ll talk later.” She bumped her shoulder against his, that same wonderfully kind smile was still on her lips. In a way, he wished she’d just be angry with him, her kindness was making him feel worse. “Now go. You’ve got a competition to win.”

 

* * *

 

“We are now entering sudden death. The next team to answer this question correctly will win the District Competition and advance to Regionals this June.” The host of the decathlon presented a showy smile to each side, gesturing with a manicured hand to the small trophy the winning team would receive as a physical prize.

Peter shifted in his seat, setting his elbows on the table. There were bells placed in front of each of the twelve participants. Six on each team. Everyone was gearing up for the question. “Alright, here is our final question of the night!” Each person on both tables leaned forward just the slightest bit. “This is an Economics question. The question is: If the money multiplier equals eight, the reserve ratio equals?”

MJ’s hand slammed down on the buzzer. “Midtown Tech?”

Peter couldn’t believe their luck. The question was exactly how they’d studied it during practice. Mr. Harrington had even mentioned that the money multiplier wasn’t mentioned in depth in the practice guides and studying it wasn’t crucial.

MJ shrugged, turned her head towards the official, and Peter could see the slightest twitch of her lip. There was the glimmer of pride in her eye. He could see how much this meant to her. “Twelve-point-five percent.”

There was a drawn-out silence. The entire team knew they’d won, they were all trying to keep their excitement to a minimum until it was officially announced. Peter clasped Ned and MJ’s hands under the table. “Midtown Tech has won the District Division!” The team immediately ruptured into shouts and chants. Peter swept MJ out of her seat and hugged her. The entire team joining in. He could feel her quiet laughter bubbling over everyone’s happy shouts. Her beaming smile was pressed against Peter’s neck. Out in the crowd somewhere, Peter could distinctly hear May screaming over the applause.

The group-hug lasted only a few seconds more before the team broke off. They all collectively walked over to shake the other team’s hands. A particularly greasy looking kid gave MJ more of a sneer than a polite smile. Her face remained cold as ever, but it didn’t stop Peter from glowering at the kid when he shook his hand.

Before Peter could even reach the next person, the kid called over the official. The crowd was still cheering, Ned was pushing at Peter to move, but something bad was about to happen. He could feel the tingle rushing over his arms, up his neck. When the official arrived at the boy, Peter perked his ears up. Pushing away Ned’s jabbing hands, Peter shushed Ned as the official leaned his ear to the boy’s mouth.

Peter picked up the conversation easily, it was second nature by this point. “Sir, I don’t mean to be a poor loser. But, I’m only concerned about Midtown Tech’s captain.” Peter’s eyes shot over to MJ, she was shaking the last person’s hand, starting to move toward the edge of the stage. “Sir, I only noticed that she has a paper sticking out of her pocket, I was concerned that it was possibly a guide or quiz answers. I found it suspicious she knew so quickly the final question after my team had only begun working it out.” Peter’s heart stopped. As the kid had said, there was a folded sheet of paper barely sticking out of MJ’s back pocket. It had been hidden up until this point by her decathlon jacket. When they’d all hugged her, it must have pushed her jacket behind the paper. Peter knew with absolute certainty MJ had no idea it was still there.

With a few words into a walkie-talkie, the official called for MJ to be taken aside. Peter had managed five swift steps towards her, but she was already to the edge of the stage, just out of his reach, when a security guard pulled her off to the side. Mr. Harrington arrived beside her just before Peter did. “Miss, we’re going to have to ask to see your pockets.”

Mr. Harrington interjected, “What’s this all about?” He shoved the glasses back up his nose, his eyes carrying over the officer.

“Sir, your student has been accused of cheating—”

“What?” MJ’s arms swung out, nearly elbowing Peter’s gut, before she folded them firmly across her chest. Peter attempted to slip his hand into her pocket, just enough to grab the paper and store it in his own jacket.

“Sir,” The officer’s tone was unyielding, and Peter’s head snapped up. His fingers were inches from the paper, but the officer was right there, his eyes clearly staring at the little corner of white peeking out of MJ’s forest-green jeans. “I see what you’re trying to do, and you need to back away.”

MJ twisted her head around, her glare finding Peter’s fingers inches from her bottom, and inches from the paper in her pocket. Her indifference broke so thoroughly, so quickly, Peter felt like he’d been gut punched. Stoic and unbreakable as MJ was, it was like crushing diamonds when her eyes burned out. The flicker of fire in them giving way to dread.

“It’s mine!” The confession was easy. He needed to save MJ from that look plastered on her face, from the thing inside her that was causing her eyes to dim so drastically. He could save her from it. Peter knew he could. He stepped in front of her. Looking the officer dead in the eye and lied. “It’s mine, I was planting it on her.” Four pointed knuckles jabbed into Peter’s back, He shot MJ a hard glare over his shoulder, urging her not to intervene.

The officer crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Why would you sabotage your own team member?”

The entire team was starting to circle around. Mr. Harrington was trying his best to push them back, as well as get a word in with the officer. Peter spoke over him. “I, uh—hate her. I’d rather see the whole team go down than have her win for us.”

The officer swept Peter out of the way. “Look, kid, I really don’t have time for heroics. Come on, Miss.” MJ stepped up to the officer, oozing broken confidence, and pulled out the paper in her back pocket. Her fingers dropped it into the officer’s hand.

An official showed up, talking over the radio. Midtown’s principal trailed behind. “Is this her?” The official asked. The officer nodded, and before Peter could get another word in, they were taking MJ away with Mr. Harrington in tow.

The entire team converged on Peter. Flash was grasping their newly won trophy like an idiot. “Parker. What just happened?”

The anger was tinting his world red, he wanted to punch that sniveling kid who’d ratted on MJ. He looked over. The kid was gone. Flash was the only asshole available. “Put down the trophy, Flash. You didn’t even compete, you look like an idiot.”

Flash’s chest puffed out, his nostrils flared, and Peter was ready to aim his fist right at them. “Say that again, Penis. I dare you.” Flash growled.

All Peter needed to do was cock his fist back and let it fly. He got as far as snapping his back his fist before two small hands were pulling his arm down. Two more arms were holding him back. Ned was yelling in his ear to leave Flash alone, that he wasn’t worth it.

“You’re so fucking full of yourself!” Years of pent up anger, of swallowed pride, was bursting from Peter at the seams. Ned was dragging him back with the help of the mystery hands.  Abe was grasping with all his might to keep Flash from launching at Peter.

When the stage door closed and there was nothing but the silence of the hallway and the shimmering light of the evening sun filtering through the glass, Peter finally shrugged Ned off.

“Dude, what was that?” Peter turned to Ned and could only stare at the scrape on the peak of Ned’s cheekbone.

“Where did—? Ned, did I do that?” A rush of shame hit him. He’d hit his best friend. He’d lost his temper.

Ned touched his cheek lightly, checking for blood. “It’s not a big deal, Peter. You just bumped me.” He smiled, as if that would fix Peter’s impending guilt.

“Peter, what’s going on? What was that?” Gwen stepped out of nowhere, Peter assumed she’d been the other set of hands pulling him back. He rapidly checked her for any bruises, but she seemed fine. Her ponytail was now slightly askew.

The hum in Peter’s bones, the memory of MJ’s face, crippled him. His back smacked against the wall and he sunk. The ground smacked his bottom hard, his head fell between his hands. “They think MJ cheated. When I talked to her before we went in, I’d grabbed her before she put her study guide away. We had to run to get in the gym on time and she must’ve put it in her pocket without thinking.” He sighed. “They could expel her.”

“I don’t think they’d expel her. She’s an amazing captain and she’s got amazing grades. There’s no way they’ll expel her for cheating. She didn’t even cheat, we both sat by her, there’s no way she cheated.”

Peter knocked his head back against the bricks of the wall. “May’s probably wondering what’s going on. Why she hasn’t seen us yet.” Peter stood, ready to go seek her out and explain what’s been going on.

Gwen helped him up, worry etched into her brows. “Ned, maybe you could go get Peter’s aunt and then meet us by the principal's office? That’s probably where they took MJ. Is that ok, Peter?”

Peter could only stare for a long moment. Gwen was a gorgeous and wonderful person. He could only hope that she found a guy that deserved her. “Yeah, that works.” Ned headed off down the hallway, leaving Gwen and Peter alone.

Peter risked a glance at Gwen. He knew the conversation was coming, and he had no idea how to broach it.

The subject was addressed by Gwen right away. “You love her, don’t you?” There was a long spell where she gave Peter the time to find his words. None of the words or sentences he could think of would do. He didn’t even know if he loved MJ, but he sure knew that he liked her a lot. After a reasonable amount of Peter’s floundering jaw, Gwen cut in again, her voice sweet and calm. Her hands were tucked into her yellow student council sweater yet again. “You do, even if you don’t want to admit it. I have a good eye for these types of things, always have.” Her smile was small, understanding, and he ducked her head down. The fine hairs on her ponytail hovered in the minuscule breeze walking created. “I know this isn’t the time to bring this up, but were you going to tell me?”

Peter finally swallowed his tongue and managed to find some words. “Yes. I mean, I only figured it out today—that I like her. I was going to tell you as soon as I could, though. But I didn’t want to tell you before Prom and ruin it for you. I asked you and I still want you to have a good time, it’s just—”

“I’m just not the person you want to be with the most.” She shrugged. “I’m not going to say I’m not upset. I do like you, Peter. You’re very kind and funny, but I’m sure that this won’t hurt for too long.” Peter cocked an eyebrow. She laughed. “You know what I mean. We’ve barely started this,” She motioned between the two of them. “Thing.”

Peter laughed this time. “I really am sorry. I didn’t want you not to have a date for Prom.”

“Oh, I’ll have a date. You can’t get out that easy, Parker. I’d love to go as friends, if you’re not set on dumping me completely, that is.” She bumped her shoulder into his, stopping outside of the darkened front office. Peter could see a sliver of light under the door.

  He took a glance away from the door and smiled at Gwen. Her eyes were soft, if a little sad, but in all she looked okay. “Nope. I’d be honored to take you out.” Gwen smiled back at him. She wrapped an arm around Peter’s bicep. It was comfortably platonic and did well to help calm the anxieties rearing their ugly heads.

There was a door between MJ and himself. He could be doing so much more to help her, but he was stuck on the wrong side of the door.

When Aunt May and Ned showed up, they had half the team in tow. They’d ended up camped outside of the office, waiting. The afternoon light turned into the blue ashy color of twilight. May had been trying to get ahold of MJ’s mom, but it repeatedly went to voicemail every time. Peter mentioned that MJ had said last week that her mom was going to be out of the country on business. May left multiple voicemails and text messages just to be safe.

By the time the lights flicked on in the hallway, Cindy’s head was on Alexa’s lap and her feet in Abe’s. Ned had placed both MJ’s and his bag beside him against the wall. He was going through his phone to pass the time. Gwen had also stayed, her head resting against Peter’s shoulder as she to scrolled through her phone. Seeing how she switched her position every ten or so minutes, Peter realized he was nothing more than a more comfortable cushion than the wall.  

May checked her watch. “They’ve been in there for a while.” She eyed Peter with a sly smile. “You think she’s putting up a fight?”

“If she didn’t I’d be worried.” Peter said. The light under the office door flickered. Flickered again.

May’s smile turned into a retrospective, prideful one. “That’s my girl.”

Then Peter could see people through the glass. He bolted up, Gwen and Ned following soon after. The decathlon official, with her curly red hair and snug high-waisted khakis, emerged first, casting a curious look towards the group of kids sprawled on the floor. The officer then emerged, followed by Mr. Harrington. May shot over to Mr. Harrington instantly. They began talking in hushed whispers, as was common with adults in situations like this.

MJ snuck around Mr. Harrington, her eyes never rising from the floor. Peter couldn’t see the brown of them beyond her bangs. He took a small step forward, before Gwen grabbed his wrist. So lightly that only he could hear, Gwen whispered. “I don’t know her like you do, but she doesn’t look like she wants to talk right now.”

Peter was just about to discount what Gwen had said until MJ’s eyes finally, painfully slowly, dragged up to meet Peter’s. The blood in his veins came to a complete halt, he felt the impact deep in his chest, piercing the place where everyone he cared about was kept.

Michelle Jones was crying.

Her eyes were puffy, red, and even as she looked at him a tear skidded down her cheek, crashing into her lips. Her throat visibly contracted. Her eyes bounced between Ned and Peter, Peter and Gwen.

Peter had no idea what had happened, what had gone so wrong as to cause MJ to cry. He never thought God himself could make MJ cry. It just wasn’t possible.

“MJ—” He reached out, ready to catch her, wanting desperately to heal her. “What happened?”

His only answer was the quiet shake of her eye as she averted her eyes once more and walked down the hallway. Everything was silent. May had halted her conversation, eyes raking over MJ, just as shocked as the others.

Ned called after her so did Peter, neither one knowing if they should run after her or not. She disappeared around the corner, looking like a specter floating aimlessly away. “What do we do?” Ned asked the question, Peter needed the answer. He was so close to running after her, he would have if the shock of what just happened hadn’t immobilized him.

May stepped between the boys, her eyes never leaving the corner MJ had disappeared behind. “ _You_ don’t do anything right now. I’ll go talk to her, see what I can do.”

Neither boys argued, they merely watched as May disappeared around the corner after MJ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guys, what was your favorite part of the chapter? Did you guys like it? Let me know in the comments! :)


	4. Stars Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle knew deep down she wanted to tell him everything. To let him know that she's never really been fine. That there was a star burning in her chest destined for supernova at any moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for waiting for this chapter! Holy crap it's been a roller coaster! I'm just so thankful you guys have been so amazing with your comments, I read every one of them and appreciate each and everyone. They mean so much to me. Same to everyone who comments and bookmarks this work. You all have really created a wonderful experience for me as a writer and I'm so thrilled everyone is enjoying this fic as much as they are! Thank you so, so much everyone!!!!
> 
> I want to let you guys know that we have 3 chapter left! Only 3 more! How crazy is that holy crap?! You have all been so amazing! So these next chapters are going to be respectivelty cut into two parts for each of our lovies, Peter and MJ. MJ's final two part chapter is this one, this being the first part. So next chapter will again be in her POV. After that the last two chapters are reserved to Peter and then what I'm going to do, once the fic is complete, is I'm actually going to re-master the first chapter, and change the name of the fic. If you guys want more info on that you can check out my Tumblr, I'll also post a little blurb on my bio about the new name so you guys can stay updated once the fic is finished!
> 
> Also huge shout out to the two people who helped edit this chapter! My beta mialeave. And also someone who's been an incredible friend and inspiration during this chapter, @SpideychelleCarwheelerTrash who I'm dedicating this chapter to because she saved this story in ways you guys will never know!
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy the first part of Michelle's final chapter!

* * *

 

** Stars Pt. 1 **

 

Michelle burst from the school, her vision smeared, fury erupted and combined into a peculiar mix of wrath and emptiness. Gasoline poured onto the fire inside her, her sobbing hiccups the sounds of explosions wracking her chest with pain. Every particle of her body was acutely aware of the wreckage wrought by the principal’s punishment. Scorching anger ignited her. Despite the heat coursing through her veins, Michelle could feel nothing in her chest. She was utterly numb. Her body ached to feel something besides her emptiness.

Michelle knew it was a stupid urge. Punching a wall wouldn’t change anything. She knew that when her fist connected with the brick it would hurt, but she punched it anyway. She needed to leave a mark on the world, on the bricks of Midtown Tech. Michelle had to prove she had control over _something._ Something to make her feel like she had some kind of authority over her life.

The unscathed bricks made a mockery of her efforts. Her hand felt nothing from the impact.

She cocked her fist a second time—let it connect with the wall—her only reward a muted sting in her knuckles. The wave of persistent emptiness tightened its grasp on her mind, pushing her to lash out at the wall which seemed to taunt her.

It wasn’t until the fifth punch that Michelle felt the impact of the hit, every minute detail crashing over her.

The bricks were uneven and jagged. Every inch created micro abrasions, further shredding her split knuckles. The pain exploded up her arm, blood cascading from the cuts across her hand.

With one last shuddering sob, Michelle cradled her hand to her chest.

Her punches only served to bury her deeper into her own despair. She no longer heard the world around her, it was too far away. Instead, Michelle was left with only the sound of the breathy convulsions remaining after her sobs, and the deafening rush of blood in her ears. Frustrated disappointment fueled the scream that bubbled up her throat. She couldn’t escape.

She collapsed on the top of the stairs, cradling her throbbing hand. Her eyes traveled upwards.

The pools slowly drying on her cheeks left her face cold, stinging in the night air. Her vision soaked up the sight of the sky. It wasn’t much of a view, but she found herself focused on it nonetheless.

The night sky never turned completely black in New York City. The glowing buildings scraping the upper atmosphere blocked most stars from cutting through their light. Michelle had really never before considered the battle of New York’s glittering lights against the night sky that overhung it. Normally, she was too absorbed in her surroundings. Now, while she sat on the steps of Midtown Tech listening as the world continued on without her, she really wished she could see the stars. She wanted to feel like there was something beyond what Earth could offer her, because it sure as hell hadn’t been kind to her, and maybe there was a place she could dream about up in the cosmos that could.

The door opened behind her. Michelle managed to swipe away the few rouge tears that were rolling down her cheeks before the intruder settled beside her. She glimpsed a flash of smooth brown locks and a trademark set of high-waisted jeans between her fingers. Michelle tucked her head into her shoulder, turning away from May, embarrassed by her current state. The silence Michelle had experienced since exploding into the cool night air continued undisturbed for a long moment.

“I probably wouldn’t want to talk either. Talking usually just makes me start crying all over again.” May paused. Surprised, Michelle turned her head just enough to glance at May. May’s hands were folded in her lap, her head tilted up to the heavens Michelle had been looking at only moments before. Deep brown eyes—so oddly similar to Peter’s own—glanced toward Michelle but didn’t linger. Still gazing up at the sky, May’s words once again glided easily into the night air. “But sometimes talking about it, even if it sucks, can really help.” May’s eyes captured Michelle’s sidelong glance. “If you ever do need someone to talk to about anything, I’m always here. If that person isn’t me, or if you’re not ready yet that’s okay, as long as you talk to someone you trust and feel comfortable with.”

May stood, closing the few steps between them, and leaned down to press a tender yet firm kiss to the top of Michelle’s hair. “If you need a ride home let me know. I’ll be inside.”

Michelle couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed her, let alone shown so much affection. When Michelle’s mother kissed her, even when she was smaller, it was never completely there. Her mother, granted, had so many other things to worry about, that her kisses were rushed and half empty. It had been years since Michelle had even received one of her mother’s thoughtless kisses. So, when May showed her such a tender, loving gesture, a tear slipped from Michelle’s eyes.

Only moments ago, Michelle had been indifferent to whether May stayed or not, but now she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. “C-can you stay?” Michelle fixed her sight to May’s shoes—practical Birkenstocks—her pride made her unwilling to meet May’s eyes.

May turned away from the door, her hand falling from the handle. “Of course.” She came back, sitting just a little closer this time. Her silence was inviting, reassuring Michelle that she would remain by her side as long as she needed her.

Michelle tried to swallow past the ball of scorching plasma caught in her throat. Her eyes stung from its heat, but she pushed it away. “I, uh, lost my spot on the team. I tried to tell them that I didn’t even realize the paper was in my back pocket. Mr. Harrington told them that I’d never do anything close to cheating. The official said that because I had the answer for the final question on the paper she found it hard to believe that I didn’t. They all started arguing about what to do with me, like I wasn’t even there. The principal said he wouldn’t expel me because I have an outstanding record, and just because I had the paper didn’t mean I used it to cheat.” Michelle felt the fire scorching her throat again. “Mr. Harrington said that he’d remove me as captain, but the principal said that it would be better if I was taken off of the team entirely.” A sob ripped through her. “After that, the official said she had to disqualify the team from competing at Nationals and defending our title. _And_ she’s going to have us investigated for any previous infractions we may have ‘gotten away with’.” Michelle glanced over to May. “I ruined it for everyone. I just feel—" She sighed, heavy and broken. “Sometimes, I just can’t win.”

“Life has a funny way of kicking us while we’re down.” She didn’t try and make Michelle feel better with empty promises or apologizing for things she couldn’t change.

Michelle laughed without mirth. May’s words were painfully true. “God, I wish it would give me a break for once.”

“I know.” May said. “This isn’t the first punch in the gut you’ve had recently.” She posed the question more like a statement. May knew the answer but was allowing Michelle the opportunity to decide whether or not she wanted to broach that subject.

Michelle took a deep breath. All of the unsettling feelings she’d been trying to manage for the last few months were boiling closer to the surface, wanting to explode. It seemed to intensify the sharp pain radiating from the cuts riddled across her knuckles. Michelle tucked her hand closer. “Maybe. But this is by far the worst one.” Losing her spot on the team was devastating but watching Peter with yet another gorgeous girl—while seen as merely a friend—had been slowly eating her away at her for weeks as well. Then there had been the whole Ned thing, which had been so outrageously stupid. Her mother had also been out of the country for three weeks—in the grand scheme of things that wasn’t too long. It wasn’t like she saw much of her while she was home anyway. Michelle didn’t want to admit she missed her mother.

“May, if I ask you a question, can you promise not to ask who it’s about?” Michelle knew that asking the frivolous question rattling around in her head would be odd at this moment, but she needed to focus on something she _could_ control.

“You can count on me.” May crossed her heart, and for extra measure held up two fingers to her brow in a salute. “Scouts honor.”

A smile tugged one corner of Michelle's mouth before it immediately dropped again. “Is it bad to want to get someone to notice you? T-to dress up just to impress them?” The moment the words left her lips she wanted to take them back. Michelle never worried about impressing boys or making herself look nice. It wasn’t in her nature, yet she’d been juggling for days whether or not she should go and buy back the Prom dress she’d returned the other night.

May took a moment before speaking, the cogs whirling behind her eyes. “I suppose it depends on _why_ you dress up.”

“What do you mean?”

May’s eyes were sparkling like the stars Michelle so desperately wanted to see. Michelle felt noticed, if only for a moment. “If you get a dress _only_ because you think some guy will like it, I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself. There’s nothing wrong with dressing up to impress someone. Dressing up is great, it can help you feel more confident and self-assured. It’s bullshit to say that looks don’t matter. They certainly can gain people’s attention, but just don’t—.” She huffed, reeling herself back in. “What I’m trying to say is, there is nothing wrong with putting yourself out there and trying something new, but don’t do it just for this guy. If you change yourself and _then_ he notices you, is it really _you_ he’s noticing, or your looks?”

Michelle’s brow creased. “Okay, so what should I do?”

May placed a soft hand on Michelle’s shoulder. “You need to do what you want to do. If you want to go the whole nine yards, then I say go for it. Just don’t lose yourself along the way. Find a dress that you feel amazing in, wear shoes that you feel comfortable in. Wear your hair down—or leave it up—It doesn’t matter as long as _you_ see how beautiful you are. If a guy really, _truly_ likes you, he’s going to think you’re amazing no matter what. But, it’s completely your call.” May leaned in, a smile playing on her lips. “Personally—if you do decide to go all out, that is—I think you’d look gorgeous in red.” She winked, her easy smile lightening the mood.

“Thanks, May.” Michelle held back her own smile, tucking her hair behind her ear, hissing from the pain when she mistakenly used her injured hand. “I—”

“Oh my god! What happened to your hand?”

Michelle’s eyes snapped to her hand. It was still oozing blood from her many abrasions, which made it look even worse. May’s soft hands snatched Michelle’s wrist, gently cradling her palm in her own.

“Michelle.” It was spoken firmly, worry laced in May’s tone.

Michelle attempted to pull her hand back, but while May’s touch was tender, her grip was strong. She hissed as her skin pulled taunt. “It’s nothing.”

Letting Michelle’s hand go, May gave her a concerned look. “You need to have this looked at.”

“No, I’m fine. It doesn’t even really hurt.” _Except for the persistent stinging and throbbing_ , Michelle thought, _but that didn’t matter_. She really didn’t want to end up stuck in a hospital room, though that would be a fitting end to her crappy day.

“Michelle, your hand could be broken.”

Michelle shook her head, noticing the stiffness on her skin from dried tears as she forced a smile. Her eyes turned once again to the sky, trying to imagine the stars beyond the barrier of light of New York. “Please,” She turned back to May, letting her see the emptiness inside her. “Please, don’t make me go there.” Her eyes portrayed the words she never could aloud.

May wasn’t happy about it, it was obvious from the way her lips pursed slightly, but she gave in to her plea. “Okay, I won't take you, but I want Peter to have a look at it.”

“Why would Peter look at it?” Michelle really didn’t want Peter to see her right now. She knew she looked like a train wreck with her broken spirit and bloodied hand.

After helping Michelle to her feet, May took a moment to have another look at her hand. “He’s had his share of injuries over the years, does a way better job patching them up than I used to.”

_The bullying_ , Michelle thought. Even though it’d been years since she’d heard about Peter getting into any fights, there were still days he showed up with bruises or cuts—not that they ever lasted a long time. This morning, when she showed up for practice, he had a bruise the size of a softball over his eye. By the time the competition had started there had been no trace of it.

May was still combing her eyes over Michelle’s knuckles. “I don’t see any major swelling or bruising besides what you’d expect. So, I don’t think you broke anything, but I’m not entirely sure. Come on, let’s find Peter and Ned. I do want you to get that hand looked at by an actual doctor as soon as you can. You need to make sure there’s no fractures or anything serious.” She took Michelle by the shoulders, dabbing her cheeks dry and combing her wild hair behind her ears. “You’re a gorgeous crier. Honestly, it’s not fair, my nose runs like a river and my face gets all blotchy.” Her smile was so genuine that Michelle almost started crying again. Before she could, May was herding her back into the school.

The school had gone dark while Michelle had been outside. Every other light in the hall was off, making a patchwork of light on the linoleum floor. Down the hall two figures walked toward them. Ned was carrying her bag in one hand, his own bag thrown over his shoulder. When Peter’s eyes landed on them he sped up, closing the distance between them.

When he closed the gap he barely seemed affected, the only physical evidence that he’d jogged was the slight dishevelment of his hair. It made her throat tighten just a little.

Peter’s eyes scanned her face without judgement. The concern in his eyes made her shrink away fractionally. She hated that he saw her so emotionally ruined. It was like he’d caught her with her shields down, all of her ugly turmoil on display.

“So, Mr. Harrington has been trying to talk to the principal for the past thirty minutes. He, uh, told us that the team’s been disqualified.” When the words left Peter’s mouth, the emptiness once again consumed Michelle. “He said we’d have a meeting—”

“Peter.” May warned.

His mouth clamped shut and he momentarily cleared his throat, taking a quick glance at Michelle. “Right. Anyway, everyone’s left, and the principle told us we needed to leave too.”

May pursed her lips. “Damnit. I was hoping we could use the first-aid kit.”

“Why?” Peters eyes searched them both, before fixing on Michelle’s hand. “Holy shit. What happened?”

Peter’s calloused fingers tenderly pulled Michelle’s hand close. It felt like the ball of plasma in her chest burst. Her breath caught.

“MJ. What the hell?” Ned craned his neck closer to her hand. She would have yanked it away if Peter’s touch hadn’t been so soothing.

“It’s nothing.”

“This isn’t nothing. Your hand looks like it’s been through a shredder.” She slipped her hand away, Peter’s index finger dragging along the middle of her palm. She could still feel his touch after pulling away, like lightning on her skin.

Michelle tried to bring herself back to reality by reaching for the bag in Ned’s grasp with her better hand.

May dug her hand into her purse, retrieving her keys. “Ned, honey. Do you need a ride home, or are you coming home with us three?”

Ned swung MJ’s bag onto his other shoulder, ignoring Michelle’s outstretched hand. “If you’re okay with taking me home—”

“You don’t need to take me back to your apartment. I can take care of myself at home,” Michelle looked at the clock on the wall. _9:30._ “It’s already late.”

May swung her key chain around her index finger, before closing them in her fist. “Don’t try to sell me that bullshit. You’re either coming home with us or I’m taking you to the hospital.” Michelle snapped her jaw shut, pulling her hand slightly closer to her chest. Peter took a fraction of a step closer, mirroring her action.

May started walking back the way they’d came. “Ned, we can definitely give you a ride home. Come on.”  

* * *

 

The ride home was filled with awkward silence. Michelle ended up in the front seat with Ned and Peter in the back. May had turned the radio on, letting the mindless tunes wash over everyone. Michelle found herself leaning her head on the window, raking her eyes over the few stars that barely punctured through New York’s light. The bumps of the car rattled through the window into her head, serving to drown out even the music.

Ned’s apartment came into view. As the car pulled up, the backseat door swung open. Ned shuffled out of the car and swung his bag onto his shoulder. He tipped his head down, momentarily focused on the cement. When his eyes came up they focused on Michelle. She rolled the window down, giving him the opportunity to speak. “I, uh, I’m around if you need me. Peter’s around too. And we don’t care about what happened tonight. At least I don’t—”

“We both don’t.” Peter chimed in.

Ned continued on, scuffing his shoes against the pavement. “We don’t care because it was totally lame and unfair. The whole team thinks that.” He shuffled up to the window, placed his large hand on her shoulder. “We’re all behind you, we’ll fix it.” Smirking he added, “I don’t know what you did to your hand. Well, I mean, I have a pretty good idea. But next time, maybe aim it at, like, Flash instead, because that would be amazing.” He ducked his head in and gave her cheek a slobbery kiss. She would never admit it, but it made a smile creep onto her lips.

Once Ned had said his goodbyes to Peter and May, and he was in the front doors of his building, May put the car into drive again and merged back onto the streets of Queens.

Michelle could clearly feel the pounding in her hand. The cuts were ugly with dried blood and cracked skin. Every time the car jostled, the wounds felt like they wanted to open further. Michelle couldn’t find a sweet spot to rest her hand comfortably. She switched its position about five times on the way to Peter’s apartment. Once May had parked, Peter flew out of the car, immediately swinging open Michelle’s door. Her bag and his own were already looped over his shoulder, and he extended a hand toward her.

“I’m alright, Loser, it’s just my hand. I can get out of the car on my own.” She swatted his hand away, embarrassment flooding through her.

Peter’s face fell, and he backed away a few steps, allowing her to swing her feet out and stand. The night air slithered along her arms, stabbing cool fingers across her wounds.

The hike up to the apartment was one Michelle didn’t remember much of. All she could focus on was the broken feeling she had as she gazed down at her battered fist. A fissure had opened in her chest at the sight, and she could see images she remembered of her father’s fist. She could vividly see the fresh blood from the cuts along his knuckles every time he beat her mother. Michelle glanced down to her own fist, covered with bruises and blood, and a sickness wrenched her stomach tight. Her face burned. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her hand. The thought that her anger could blind her, enough to try and crumble a wall, sent a jolting shock up her spine. It was something her father would have done.

The backs of Michelle’s eyes stung once again. She managed to bite back her emotions just in time to keep her eyes from filling with tears. Her usual mask didn’t feel right on her face anymore, the cracks spidering across it made her feel so fragile.  

May’s keys dove into the lock on the door. She walked through it, instantly disappearing into the back of the apartment, towards her room. Peter let Michelle in first before dropping their backpacks by the couch. “Is it—Can I see your hand?” His own hands were already inching toward hers, as if he knew the answer but didn’t want to assume he was right. His actions asked the question more so than his words.  

Falling back onto the couch, her feet suddenly feeling too weak to stand on, Michelle merely raised her hand to Peter in answer. She angled her body toward him, letting the graze of his fingers along her knuckles soothe her. Her stomach lurched when she saw the blood, remembering again her father’s menacing fist. Michelle turned away, closing her eyes to the memory.

The pads of Peter’s fingers were not particularly rough. They were more textured, his fingerprints prominent. His touch was merely a whisper as not to hurt her, probing for broken bones. It sent lightning crackling between them. He handled her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. Normally, that would only serve to piss her off, but Michelle couldn’t help but feel that being fragile right now was okay. When his fingers came to the back of her palm, carefully prodding the bruised skin, there was a subtle stabbing pain. The pain didn’t seem to matter nearly as much as his fingers gently massaging into her skin.

“Michelle?” Her name dripped from his lips, leaking into her mind and slowly calming the unwanted fire that raged in her throat.

Michelle found herself humming in reply, allowing herself to focus on the way his fingers traced every one of hers.

Peter let her hand go, slipping his away from her like a ship pulling out from the dock. She felt like his hands were leaving where they were supposed to be—entangled in her own. “Are you okay?”

Michelle clashed eyes with Peter. She knew deep down she wanted to tell him everything. To let him know that she has never really been fine, that there was a star burning in her chest, destined for supernova at any moment. Her barrier—her mask—prohibited those words from crawling up her throat. Instead, Michelle nodded, listened as the words she’d trained herself to say over the years came out, “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Peter sighed, as if he’d expected her answer but was disappointed with it. “Well, your hand for one.” Peter said.

Michelle found the courage to glance at her hand. “What’s the prognosis, Doctor? Am I gonna live?” She tried to smile but it was forced.

Peter’s worry morphed into something akin to amusement as he picked her hand up again. “It doesn’t seem broken to me. I think you’re going to be just fine, as long as you don’t go punching anymore walls.” He brought her hand closer to his body, yet his eyes stayed fixed on her.

Puffing out her chest, forcing some of her confidence back, Michelle leaned toward him, eyes squinting in playful menace. “What if I said it wasn’t a wall?”

She told herself that being this close to him didn’t make the fire in her explode into a burning frenzy. She also told herself that there was no way he’d be able to see how fake her act really was.

For once Peter seemed to be the more confident of the both of them. He leaned in slightly, causing Michelle’s abdomen to suck in. “I’d call you a liar.”

Her eyes fluttered, the wildfire in her spread through her arms and legs, masking the pain in her fist.

_Gwen_.

It flashed into her mind so quickly. The image of her slender hand on Peter’s arm earlier was seared in her mind, like a brand. It was reminder that Peter wasn’t Michelle’s, would never be, no matter how he made her feel. He would only ever be her best friend, same as Ned. Regardless of the way his breath washed over her face, or the fact that he smelled vaguely like rain, Michelle pulled back from his gravity. “It’s kinda pathetic, huh?” She turned her eyes away, focusing on the bookshelf behind the couch. Her mask of indifference managed to cover her face again. After her mask shielded her entire body, Michelle dared to look at Peter again.

His lips were thin, his eyes wider than normal. “I—uh—what’s pathetic?” A blush creeped over his ears, lightly kissing the tops of his cheeks.

“Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

Peter’s mouth opened, but May’s voice cut in from the back of the apartment. “Peter, where’s the First Aid kit?”

“Should be in my room.” He shot Michelle an apologetic look before standing from the couch. “I’ll be right back.” He said it over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Peter returned shortly, Aunt May behind him. He held a large fabric case that looked well worn. He quickly resumed sitting where he’d previously been. Opening the case revealed a well-stocked first aid kit. His hands returned to Michelle’s, dabbing Neosporin on her cuts and strategically placing band-aids. After he’d quickly cleaned and bandaged her nastier wounds, he pulled an ace bandage from the kit.

Before she was able to express her confusion, Peter managed to address her internal question. “It’s in case you do have some small fracture I can’t feel, or sprained your wrist.” Peter’s voice was low and distracted as he wound the white bandage around her thumb, up around her knuckles, before circling around her wrist.

May pulled open the linen closet by the kitchen. “Michelle, when is your mom going to be back from business?” She turned from the closet, a bundle of sheets in her hands, kicking the door closed.

Peter finished wrapping her hand by tying the end of the bandage into the fabric around her wrist. Michelle pulled her hand back, testing her fingers slightly. The discomfort was still there, but the sharp pain had eased into a dull ache. “Um, in a few days. Why?” Eyeing May as she dropped the sheets onto one of the easy chairs adjacent to the couch, Michelle glanced quickly over to Peter. He was packing up the used alcohol pads and band-aid wrappers.

May leaned against the chair she’d put the sheets in, her hair cascading over her shoulders. “I think it’d be best if you stayed here for the night.”

Michelle scoffed, quickly standing up. _They don’t even trust me to get home safely_. “It’s only a few scrapes. I don’t see why I can’t go home.”

“Well, your mom _is_ out of town, and with your hand...” Michelle glared at Peter. His statement felt like a betrayal. He wasn’t supposed to side with May.

May nodded, perching herself on the arm of the chair instead of leaning against it. “Exactly, you don’t have anyone waiting for you, and after what’s happened today—not just with your hand—I think I’d feel better if you had someone there for you.” Damn May and her easy smile. It made Michelle feel like she should say yes.

Michelle grabbed her bag, throwing it onto her shoulder. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was little. The offer is nice, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll be okay.”

“Sometimes it’s okay to let other people take care of you, MJ.” Peter was right behind her, biceps flexing momentarily as his arms crossed. Despite his defensive stance, his face begged her to stay.

It was the second time Michelle felt trapped in this apartment in the last week. Glancing from Peter to May, and then back to Peter, she felt her will to fight slowly bleeding away.

“If you really don’t want to stay, I won’t stop you. But I’d feel a lot better if you did.” Sensing Michelle’s dwindling resolve, May’s gaze steadied, and allowed her words to tip the scales.

Michelle’s body sagged, and she merely nodded. _It’s easier to give in,_ that was what she told herself anyway. She willfully ignored the place in her chest that wanted to stay.

May stood, clapping her hands together. “Okay, then it’s settled. I’ll go get you some of my pajamas. Peter, could you pull out the hideabed and put these sheets on it?”

“On it!” He saluted before leaping across the coffee table effortlessly.

Michelle stood, giving Peter access to the couch. Deciding she may as well help, she went to push the coffee table away as Peter yanked the cushions off the couch. Pain sparked in her hand as she gave the table a shove. “Your bed’s gonna be bigger than mi—Hey! What are you doing?” Peter turned at her hiss of pain, dropping the cushions in his hands before ushering her away from the table.

Michelle huffed, straightening. “I’m not helpless, Loser. I can move a table.”

Gently moving her to the side, Peter smiled. “Can you just let me do something for you, for once?” He turned from her, pushing the coffee table out of the way and against the wall.

The question shocked Michelle. The heat that enveloped her body evaporated the wave of anger flooding her throat. Michelle could only stare, her voice fading along with her rage.

When Peter turned around to pull out the couch, his eyes filled with concern when he saw she hadn’t moved. “You okay?” He went to reach for her arm, a reassuring gesture, but she pulled out of his reach before he could.

“I’m fine.” Her tone had a little more bite than she intended but he was being too nice, and she didn’t want any more reasons to fall for him. Peter turned back to his task without a word, pulling the couch out and letting it unfold across the living room. Michelle swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

Peter shrugged, purposefully keeping his eyes locked on straightening the bed. “You’re a private person, I get that.” His gaze met hers, the sincerity in his dark eyes shone through like stars in a midnight sky. “Sometimes—I just wish you’d talk to me about what’s really going on in your head.”

May walked in the room sporting her pajamas, carrying another pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt. “Here you go,” She set down the clothes meant for Michelle. “You know where the bathroom is, there’s toothpaste and a new toothbrush in there that you can use. You’re absolutely free to watch TV or raid the fridge. Lord knows you could never be worse than Peter, Sometimes I actually hide my leftovers so I have a chance to eat them. If there’s any in there, you have dibs.” May shot Peter a look before she padded over, pulling his temple to her lips and gave him a loud kiss. She then patted Michelle’s shoulder, giving her a smile. “Okay, I’m going to head off to bed, I’ve got work in the morning. And you better not leave this house tonight, Peter Parker.”

Michelle’s brow creased. She turned her eyes to Peter, who looked like his eyes were about to fall out of his head. “May, I’m not gonna leave the house. _Why_ would I leave the house?” He said every word through gritted teeth.  
“Just making sure.” May pinched his cheeks, causing him to jerk away. “Look at those adorable cheeks.” She gave him an air kiss before turning away and cracking up.

Peter’s face had gone completely red. “May,” He ground out, only able to cast a sideways glance at Michelle. She was desperately trying to conceal a smirk.

“Love you both. Night.” When May disappeared around the corner, Michelle took the golden opportunity to do one of her favorite things: embarrass Peter. She sprang at him, using her good hand to pinch his cheek. Through laughter she managed to say, “Look at those _adorable_ cheeks.” before dissolving into hysterics.

Peter swatted her away, making a good effort at pouting. “Stop it. She only said that to embarrass me.” He went about violently shaking out the sheets and throwing them over the mattress with a childish pout.

“I’d certainly hope so. If not, she’d be one creepy aunt.” Michelle patted his cheek lightly before falling back onto the mattress. One of the bars beneath the mattress dug into her back, but beside that it was one of the more comfortable hideabeds she’d been on.

Peter scowled at her. “You’re a menace.” He threw the blanket on top of her, enveloping her in darkness.

“Hey, don’t you think I’ve had it bad enough today? I don’t need you bullying me now too.” The smile she had as she swatted the blanket from her face vanished when the blanket fell away. Peter was no longer his playful self, to her surprise his face had fallen into pensive contemplation. “Peter? What’s wrong?” She pushed herself to her elbows, her brows knitting together in concern.

“I’m just worried about you that’s all.” His tone was soft in her ears, yet it sent a spike of dread hurtling into her.

Her smile dropped. “There’s nothing to worry about, I’m fine.” She knew he meant well—that he didn’t pity her—but Michelle didn’t need his worry.

“Yes, there is. MJ, you punched a wall. That’s not something that someone who’s ‘fine’ does. I mean, I feel like you just close yourself off. And—I don’t know—I guess I’m just worried about you.” Peter roughly threaded his fingers through his mane of hair as if to punctuate his words, staring at her.

Michelle turned her eyes away, wanting to revert back to their playful conversation. “I’m fine, Loser. Stop worrying about me.”

Peter’s chest heaved, taking up all the air in the room until Michelle was left breathless, waiting for his words. The fire in her lungs that begged for air was reflected in Peter’s eyes, which were smoldering with a rare intensity. “But I _do_ worry, I worry because you don’t let me know what’s happening. And I worry even more when you lie about being fine, which you obviously aren’t. I know so much about you, MJ, but when it comes to the real stuff—the deep stuff—you shut me out. You trust Ned, you guys apparently have secrets. I haven’t forgotten about the weird relationship thing you two made up to try and keep me out. You won’t let me in. Why don’t you trust me?” His words were like matches, sparking into a wildfire that burned everything down.

“That thing with Ned was a stupid lie to get you off my back about the stupid crush you thought I had. Which _you_ kept pushing about. Ned was just trying to help.” Michelle jumped to her feet, the fire bursting higher with every step she took towards Peter.

Eye to eye she felt the teetering balance between concern and frustration rolling off him in waves. She could see everything she loved about Peter and everything she hated all in one perfect picture in front of her. The wildfire was eating away the both of them, slowly charging their nerves until both she and Peter were glaring the other down.

Peter closed the space between them, his eyes begging her to let him in. Tension wound tight right behind her navel from his heated glare. “It doesn’t matter. You’re both still lying about _something_ , whether you want to admit it or not. The point is that I’m the only one you don’t let in.”

Michelle felt Peter’s fire singe her skin. The blood was pounding painfully in her wounded hand. “You’re telling me there’s no secrets you keep from me? You think I don’t notice the whispered conversations you have with Ned? You think I can’t tell that you’re keeping something from _me, too_? People have secrets, Peter! At least I’m not naive enough to pretend they don’t.”

She didn’t let it get to her often. Usually she just ignored the secretive things Peter would say to Ned, or his sudden absences from team. Normally, she’d let it roll off her back but if he wanted to try and throw her lies in her face she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to return the favor.

“You want to know what I’m hiding from you? I’ll gladly tell you.” Peter growled, and if it was possible he came closer. She felt his breath in her face, the heat radiating off of him.

The energy between them was hurtling towards impact, their cores melding together in a dazzling fire. Mr. Harrington had said something once about two stars colliding, something about binary stars and stellar collisions. Michelle could feel the gravitational pull intensify with each labored breath they took. Their collision was imminent, yet they’d never felt more divided.

She felt the burning heat of the star in her chest pulsing, becoming unstable. “No. I don’t want to know, because that’s your business, not mine.”

Peter growled, throwing his arms out to the side, a mad smile taking over his face. He paced away from her, laughing mirthlessly. “You’re so _difficult_ , Michelle.” He whipped around, facing her once again and came closer, grasping her arms desperately, locking their gaze. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time. _Please_ , just talk to me.”

“I don’t want to _talk_ , Peter. I don’t want to talk to you—or anyone else—about the shit going on in my life. Just drop it, for Christ sake. You live your life, and I’ll live mine.”

The star inside of her exploded into supernova. At the same time, the explosion fueled her anger, it shattered her. A million pieces of Michelle Jones careened through the space between Peter and herself. She watched as he too was pushed away by the force of her explosion.  She wanted it to stop, but her rage pushed her onward, not allowing her to feel the guilt creeping into her body.

Peter’s face hardened. No longer could she see the emotions usually written across his face; now, he was eerily silent. Michelle could feel him closing off from her. “I’m your friend, MJ, and maybe I ask too many questions, but you don’t tell me _anything._ I feel like that’s all I can do—ask questions that never get answered. A friendship shouldn’t be one sided like this.”

He began to turn away from her. “You’ve got to let someone in at some point or you’re going to end up alone.” He was breaking, and the shards of Peter Parker hurtling toward her sliced deep into her skin.

“I like to be alone!” She retaliated, but she could feel herself collapsing into the black hole forming in her chest. Falling deeper into the blackness that she knew, into the darkness she hated. Darkness was bliss. In the dark, there was no way to see everything that was wrong.

“Nobody likes to be alone!” Peter yelled, but quickly shrunk away, casting a quick glance to the hall, making sure May wasn’t about to come barging in. It was a miracle she hadn’t come into the living room already.

“I’ve been alone my entire life, Peter. It’s something I’m used to.” She turned away, needing to be alone. Grabbing the pajama’s May left for her, Michelle headed back into the bathroom, feeling a mixture of guilt tangling with anger throughout her body. “I’m going to get changed.”

As she closed the bathroom door, Michelle could hear someone walk by. In the living room, May asked if everything was alright. Peter said he was sorry about the noise, then his voice lowered enough that Michelle couldn’t hear him. She ignored the whispered voices outside and braced her hands on the counter. She stared into the mirror. Her eyes were desolate, her mask battered and broken. She welcomed her emptiness with open arms. It was better than feeling the guilt that was consuming her.

Once again, she’d let her emotions rule over her, and this time she’d pushed Peter away. The distance between them felt larger than she’d wanted. It felt like galaxies were spread out between her and him.

She was destruction, nothing safe from her gravity as she ruined everything. Decathlon, her hand, and now Peter all damaged by her.

Michelle quickly changed, trying not to let the gravity break her as well. There was still that fire burning in her, consumed with Peter. For once she realized that he’d given everything to her so selflessly. That he desperately wanted her to talk to him because he desperately wanted to help. And she’d shut him out entirely.

Michelle opened the door to the bathroom. The whispers beyond the door had stopped, and moments ago she’d listened as two doors clicked shut in the apartment. The living room was empty and a single lamp beside the hideabed was turned on, casting dramatic shadows over the room. While she’d been in the bathroom Peter had finished making the bed, which had been abandoned halfway through the argument. The sheets were folded down, welcoming her, but she dodged the bed entirely for the window across the room. She tugged the blinds open and soaked in the lights from the city and the darkness of the sky.

Just barely, Michelle could see one persistent star peeking through the light pollution. She wondered how many more were out of her eye’s reach. It was like the sky was keeping a secret from her, and she felt that emptiness soak into her bones in another potent wave. The thought of Peter penetrated her mind. Michelle could still picture vividly the look on his face when she said she didn’t need him. How hurt he’d been.

Michelle felt the sudden urge to apologize, the same way she felt the need to breathe.

Turning around, she was shocked to find the subject of her thoughts standing by the hideabed, placing something on the side table. Peter jerked up, backing away slightly. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Sorry. I just realized you’re probably hurting from everything—” He coughed, trying to mime something unintelligible with his arms. He stopped, running a hand over the back of his neck instead. “No, I mean—I meant your—um—your hand. Your hand’s probably hurting is what I meant, and I forgot to give you something for it earlier, so I was just going to leave these here,” He held up two round pills—probably Ibuprofen—before setting them back down on the table. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you or anything. Sorry, um, I’ll—yeah, I’ll just go.” He turned, already halfway to his room

“Peter, wait.” Michelle rushed over to him, grabbing his arm in the darkness of the hallway.

Peter whipped his head around, his eyes fastening onto hers. In the dim light of the hallway—the lamp from the living room barely invading the space with light—nothing existed but a small sliver of the wall, the carpet they stood on, and Peter directly in front of her. He was inches away, his eyes roaming over her face searching for some type of answer.

“I’m sorry, for everything I said. I—” No more words escaped. They had been sucked into the black hole behind her sternum.

Shadows were cast along the planes of Peter’s face, but his eyes glinted in the light, glowing like distant stars. Michelle could feel that distance, as if she was looking at stars light-years away, across an entire universe.

He turned away from her still. Away from the glow of the light and into shadows where she couldn’t see his face. Michelle’s hand twitched, wanting to grasp for his arm, wrist, anything, just so he couldn’t leave her so easily. Holding herself back, she could feel the regret beginning to eat away at her; felt the guilt slithering up from her chest out to her limbs, causing the dullest ache in her fingertips and toes.

Peter turned back slowly, as if sensing Michelle’s longing to pull him back towards her. “I don’t want to intrude. Like you said, you live your life and I’ll live mine.” He began to walk away, guarded from her in a way she’d never seen.

Michelle desperately reached for his arm, his warmth melting her skin.

She held his eye, searching out the starlight usually there, and found beautiful constellations.

“Please, Peter, wait.” It was a plea she prayed he listened to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading you guys! Let me know what you think and what your favorite part of this chapter was!


	5. Stars Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he’d see her for what she was, just glass made from the fire of a dying star. So breakable. So fragile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys. you’ve been amazing! You’ve all been so flippping amazing I can’t even thank you all enough. I love you all so much and you’ve stuck around wating for the continuation of Hair and It taken a long time and honestly I just can’t thank you all enough for your love, support, and reassurance for this fic. It would not be here without you all and it’s been amazing for me to feel that love and it’s helped push me through. As I’ve said, Stars has turned into a three part chapter so there’s still another part yet to come. Again, thank all of you for so much support and I just can’t thank you enough. i”m so sorry how late this chapter has come! 
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know your thought on the chapter!

_Peter turned back slowly, as if sensing Michelle’s longing to pull him back towards her. “I don’t want to intrude. Like you said, you live your life and I’ll live mine.” He began to walk away, guarded from her in a way she’d never seen._

_Michelle desperately reached for his arm, his warmth melting her skin._

_She held his eyes, searching for the starlight usually there, and found beautiful constellations._

_“Please, Peter, wait.” It was a plea she prayed he listened to._

Silence.

Peter didn’t pull away from Michelle’s hold on his wrist. He stayed still. His eyes flickered to a spot somewhere behind her head, not meeting her eyes.

Michelle could feel the emptiness welling inside of her chest. Time was stretching, holding tight to the moment before another storm. She could see the thunderheads rolling in, could tell that Peter was contemplating if he should drift away, or unleash a down-pour.

Michelle had never craved the taste rain so much in her life. 

Caught in the turmoil of Peter’s eyes, Michelle felt the steady beating of her pulse. It throbbed against the broken skin on her injured hand. The sting of Peter’s silence continued.  Peter’s pulse fluttered beneath her fingertips in time with the painful drumming in her fist. For a moment, she wound her fingers tighter, pressing into the spot on his skin were his pulse resided. Michelle felt the steady hit of his pulse echoing her own as it radiated against her neck and in her stomach. It thumped across her injured knuckles. His rhythm was a tempo vibrating through her bones.

Silence.  _Still_.

Michelle felt every unspoken thing between them filling the spaces, the cracks. Her eyes pleaded with him to listen. His body moved slightly, ready to pull away. Michelle swore that if he left now it would break the bones in her body.

The erratic thumping of his pulse under her fingers grounded her. She would survive his absence, like she survived everything else. But, Michelle didn’t want to survive his absence, she didn’t want to understand the absence of Peter at all. She desperately wanted him in her life. She just didn’t know how to give him what he wanted. Opening herself to him here, in a darkened hallway, was like opening a wormhole. Michelle couldn’t know where it would take them, or if they’d survive the journey.

She needed him to understand that the words wouldn’t—couldn't—manifest on her tongue.

Michelle watched lightning strike in Peter’s eyes, the storm so close, the rain so near. She was a drought ridden desert, and she longed to feel the touch of rain.

The only words she could bring herself to say to break the thick silence, blew past her lips. A whisper, a plea. “I’m sorry.”

Inside of her, the precarious placement of her body swayed on the edge. She couldn’t show Peter the blackness inside of her. If she didn’t even want to see it, he definitely wouldn’t.

His eyes stalled, opened for just a moment, shimmering with concern. Michelle felt the sharp sting in her throat, tears clawing their way into her eyes. She’d become such a broken thing, and she wished she could hide it as easily as she used to.

Peter took a step closer to her and Michelle finally felt steady enough to let his wrist slide from her grip. There was a sizzle that reached up her arm as the tips of their fingers collided. Michelle tried to ignore it and push through to what she needed him to understand, to know. “I’m sorry.” Michelle whispered. Peter took another minute step, barely a move from his previous spot. But, it was closer still. “I’m sorry that I can’t give you what you want.” The words felt like barbed-wire in her throat.

Looking at him now, Michelle could see the words she didn’t want to say filling the void between them. Within that void, she could see everything she would never be. She could never give Peter a bubbly personality, the beautiful clothes, or the happiness that other girls could. She couldn’t even manage to tell him why her fist was bloody, or why the sight of herself in the mirror repulsed her.

There was nothing she could give him that he could ever want.  It was something she could live with most days, but today was harder than most.

An ache wrapped around her body. It caused a sense of numbness to engulf her body. Michelle managed to murmur, “I’m sorry I can’t give you something more. But please, stay.”

The storm was peaking in Peter’s eyes and, all at once, they were open to her again. There was hurt. So much hurt. Michelle couldn’t bear to look, so she broke her eyes away.

“There’s nothing you could give me that I wouldn’t want. Our relationship has  _always_  been enough for me, MJ. You’re my best friend. I’m only worried about you.” His voice was turbulent.

Michelle’s eyes zipped back to Peter’s. She could tell he was trying to be understanding, that he was trying to give her the space she needed. She could see in his eyes that desire for her to talk to him.

The space between them called to her. She resisted, folding her arms tight. A barrier placed between them. If she fell into the void now, she’d never return. Peter broached that distance regardless. “I know I have no right to be upset that you won’t talk to me. We’re friends and if you don’t want to tell me certain things than I’ll accept that. But, if you ever need to talk, just know that I’m here. All I want is the best for you.”

Desperation writhed in her gut as he began to turn away. Michelle took a jerking step forward, not daring enough a second time to grab his wrist. “Will you stay?” Behind her mask she could feel deep in her chest—far enough down only she could know—shuddering sobs. They manifested on the surface as nothing more than a quick flicker of her lashes.

Peter turned his head. The distance of stars and galaxies still expanded between them. “If I stay, I’m only gonna want you to talk to me. Then I’ll get upset, and pretty soon we’ll end up fighting again. It’s better if I just leave you alone for now.” There the smallest smile, cracked but still good.

Michelle knew he was right, that leaving them both to pick up their own pieces was better than trying to pick them up for each other. It didn’t mean that she had to be happy about it.

She watched as Peter turned the knob on his door. “I’m sorry. For everything.” She attempted to smile, but it felt like it wasn’t sitting quite right on her face.

Peter pushed the door open. “Me too.” He disappeared into the darkness of his room.  Only, his head popped out as Michelle turned back to the living room, ready to curl up on her makeshift bed. “MJ?”

She picked her head up, gazing across the complex space between them. The void filled with her broken pieces and stubborn ways. A space filled with his distance from her. There was still a magnetism to his gaze. One that ached to pull her closer. Concern and anger. Hurt and comfort. It was all drenching the cavity between them. Michelle gazed at Peter across the distance, trying to understand the mixture of emotion in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“What were you looking at—earlier I mean?” Peter tilted his chin towards the living room. “When you were looking out the window?”

The memory of the glowing night sky flooded her vision. “Just trying to get a look at the stars.”

“Why?” he asked.

Michelle shrugged. It was a less complicated answer. She didn’t want to explain that the stars were easier to focus on than the chaos inside, hallowing her out.

Peter nodded, said nothing for a long moment. Then, “Do you need anything else for your hand before I go?” His eyes looked like they were begging her to say yes, and she didn’t understand why.

She thought back to Peter’s finger running across her knuckles, murmuring things into her skin only a touch could. On the table beside her hide-abed Michelle knew there was medicine that would calm the aching in her fist, but she felt like the only relief that she needed was the way Peter’s hands moved across her own. Michelle cleared her throat, forcing the image away. She wasn’t about to make herself believe she  _needed_  him for comfort.

That didn’t mean she didn’t  _want_ him for comfort.

Michelle shook her head, banishing the image of the veins across his palms and how they were so different from hers. She cleared the words that asked him to stay from her throat. “No.” Peter’s eyes fell. “No, I’ll be okay. Thank you. For everything.”

Peter nodded, saying nothing more than a hushed, “Goodnight.” The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Michelle alone in the shadowed hallway.

“Goodnight.” Michelle whispered, turning away. She was ready to collapse into the bed waiting for her in the living room. She wanted to fold herself into the sheets and fade into darkness.

* * *

The intoxicating scent of the cafe faded away as Michelle pushed her back into the door, opening it. She stepped into the neutral temperature of dusk.

Sprawling shadows covered the street. Pink and orange light kissed the sidewalk in little patches. In the thick air of New York, Michelle welcomed the chilly breeze that ruffled her hair and pinched her nose. Pausing outside the cafe windows, she let her two shopping bags fall into the crook of her arm while she brought the warmth of her coffee to her lips. The smell of it filled her instead of the putrid scent of new asphalt.

Michelle pulled out her phone, careful to place her cup in the precarious grip of her bandaged hand. For a split second, the image of Peter’s diligent fingers wrapping up her own engulfed her. His diligent hands worked with gentle touches and soothing sweeps of fingers.  The image caused an erratic flutter in her chest. Michelle forced the image away and instead focused on the time glaring up from her screen.

_7: 12pm_

Since leaving Peter’s apartment early in morning, Michelle had taken to the streets of Queens, hitting up some of her favorite haunts.

Michelle had woken to dusty, pre-dawn light. She’d taken to cleaning up her bed, leaving the sheets and her borrowed pajamas in a neat pile. It was easier to leave a thankful, vague note atop the pile instead of talking to May or Peter. The thought of concerned glances and timid questions made her stomach roll. It was better that she left in the darkness, like she’d never intruded in their lives at all. But as much as she could erase herself from them, she couldn’t manage to erase them. The scent of Peter—earthy like rain soaking through trees and dirt, with the slightest hint of fresh pine—still haunted her. Michelle couldn’t shake the way his eyes left blisters across her skin, or how his voice filled her completely. Michelle blinked away the memories of his raised voice and broken eyes. She couldn’t help feeling like she was destruction, tearing down the world around her piece by piece.

Michelle slid her phone back into her pocket, deciding that it was best to go home. She’d spent most of her day since leaving Peter’s at her favorite book store, buying a few titles she’d been wanting to read. Since then, she had taken to relaxing in her favorite cafe.

Over the years, Michelle decided that being alone in a crowd of people was the best form of comfort. She could be completely isolated without feeling the weight of her troubles. She could drown herself in watching people, observing habits. Sometimes all she needed was a look into the lives she wouldn’t mind having.

Michelle took another long swig of her coffee and began to walk. She remembered all the years she’d spent roaming the streets, trying to escape a broken home.  _Those were the days_ , her sarcasm filled her for a moment. She was already feeling better.

Her phone started vibrating in her pocket. “Oh, for God’s sake.” Michelle fumbled with her coffee, finally opting to stop walking all together. Setting her cup on a faded blue mailbox, she looked at her phone. She knew exactly who was calling before she read the name.

_Peter Parker._

He’d called a total of seven times today. Michelle hadn’t answered any of them, telling herself she was too busy doing other things. It wasn’t because her stomach twisted itself into knots when he called. It wasn’t because she knew he’d want to know where she’d gone this morning. No, she’d simply been too busy to bother.

The phone continued to vibrate. Now, at the end of the day, Michelle didn’t have the energy to keep dodging him. She hit the accept bubble on her screen.

Michelle told herself that everything was fine. Everything was normal. She felt the calming reassurances envelop her body. There was now only the minute presence of the black emptiness leaking out of her chest.

Pressing the phone to her ear, Michelle leaned against the mailbox. She kept a lazy hand on her coffee still resting on the mailbox’s top. “You’ve reached Michelle Jones; how may I assist you?” She smiled to herself, letting her walls in-case her in emotional safety.

On the other side of the line, Peter’s voice came in a shy stammer. “ _Um, hey, MJ. You, uh, haven’t answered any of my calls.” he paused. “Are you okay?_ ”

Michelle pressed her hip into the mailbox until it ached. “I’ve been busy, Loser. I do have a life you know.”

 _“You never said goodbye this morning. May and I…we were worried.”_ His voice strained, attempting normality.

Michelle chomped down on her lip, feeling it between her teeth, forcing back a snappy retort. “I left a note.”

“ _But, is there, um, a reason you only left a note, or…?”_  Peter’s raspy tone flooded Michelle’s ears. She forced her frustration down. 

She raked a hand across her forehead, wondering how Peter’s demeanor had changed so drastically from the night before. Now so shy and reserved. It reminded her of how he’d acted before they’d become friends. It was completely different to the angry friend she’d encountered yesterday. “Look, I figured it’d be better to get out of your hair, so I left a note. And, I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done, but I don’t see the big deal in ducking out before you woke up?”

“ _Is this because of last night? Because I—_ ”

“It’s not because of that, Peter. I just don’t want to deal with people today. I needed to be alone. I didn’t think it would bother you. I mean, you didn’t seem to have a problem leaving me alone last night, after I asked you to stay.” She took a sharp inhale, pushing down her words. So, maybe she was a little upset about last night.

There was a long silence, the only feedback that came through the phone was a small crackle of static. “ _So, you’re mad at me because I didn’t leave you alone? MJ, you literally yelled at me to go away, like, twenty minutes earlier.”_  The frustration in his tone didn’t go unnoticed, but his voice remained even.

The light of the sunset was turning a deep purple. Lights began to flicker on along the street. Taking hold of her coffee, Michelle allowed its warmth to crawl up her arms and into her chest. “No, I’m not mad. Jesus, I just wanted—um. Never mind, it’s not worth it. Thank you for letting me stay. Tell Aunt May thank you and I’m sorry for leaving this morning.”

Another pregnant pause, no more crackling. It was silent. It was the sound of their galaxies growing further apart. “ _I’m sorry, I just—I don’t know what you want from me? I only wanted to make sure you’re okay. If you’re going to be okay?”_

Tapping her fingers along the mailbox, listening to the hallow ting of each nail tapping the metal, Michelle said, “I’ll be okay. If that ever changes, I’ll let you know.”

“ _Promise?_ ” She wasn’t sure if he was smiling or not, but she chose to think he was. The anxiety building in her ebbed away like waves pulling back across the sand.

“Yeah, yeah. I promise, Loser.”

They both said their respective goodbyes, and Michelle hung up the phone feeling fractionally better.

It seemed like no matter how much she wanted return things to how they used to be, there was never enough gravity. Peter was trying to drag her across space to him. A place where she’d tell him everything that was boiling under her surface. Where she’d be the person he could save. The person he could pick up the pieces to and fix. But, she didn’t want him to fix her. All she wanted was for him to be there with her as she picked up her own pieces.

Michelle started to place her phone back in her pocket. She was ready to take her coffee from its perch on the mailbox and walk the few blocks back to her apartment. Her phone barely slipped back into her pocket when it vibrated against her hand. She pulled it back out, checking the screen for who else wanted to interrupt her day.

It was an email. Michelle got email updates daily for school, promotional offers from the grocery store, and other miscellaneous things. Never once had she received an email titled  _Metropolitan Correctional Center, New York_.

Michelle didn’t know what started to slither across the underbelly of her stomach, but it was causing the hair on her neck to stand up. The memory of last sip of coffee turned bitter in her mouth. Somewhere in the air, the tip of her tongue ran across the toxic stench of stale cigarettes and cheap beer, filing her with a vile taste.

The only reason Michelle would receive an email from the Prison—especially  _that_ prison—was because of a person she’d prefer to forget.

Still, she accepted the email, unable to turn it away. Unable to fight the hope that the email was a mistake, that if she opened the email she would not be opening Pandora’s Box.

Her hands still, opened the email as delicately as she could. Deep inside the thing slithering along her stomach began spiraling up. It slipped through her ribs, past the pounding in her chest, and finally wrapped around her windpipe. It was a python squeezing around her throat. She felt sky full of stars turning black inside her.

The email opened. Unassuming and innocent, wearing the words of the prison like a badge of honor.

As Michelle read the email, her injured hand steadying her coffee on the mailbox slipped away. Her hand smacked into the mailbox, turning into a fist as her body seemed to have holes cut into the skin. Air was withering out of her; a tumultuous sea of dread came up to drown her.

Michelle’s coffee teetered on the mailbox before sliding off the curvature of the top. It splattered on the sidewalk.

At the end of the letter, signed as if they’ve been happy pen pals all these years, was:  _I hope to see you soon. Love, Dad._

* * *

Everyone was acting like someone had died. Hands brushed over Michelle’s shoulders. People threw pitiful glances at her like scraps from a medieval parade. She pushed through the looks, the pats on the shoulders. She ignored every insufferable, gentle question about how she was doing or what had happened at decathlon. As if any of them cared. Most of them had never spoken a word to her face before. Michelle knew plenty of words had slithered out of their mouths behind her back. Always behind her back.

Their concern was ankle-deep.

Another hand folded over her shoulder, someone’s hushed voice asking how she was doing. Michelle ignored it. She kept her head held high, reinforced the steel of her spine with every step deeper into the school. For the first time in her life, eyes were combing over her body, trying to read her. The weight of it all was crushing. She could feel herself crumbling from it with every step forward. With every piece of reinforcement, she added, it only crumbled ever more.

A few members from the team came up, asked questions. Cindy only gave her a tight hug before apologizing and running off. It almost made Michelle start crying again. Thank god for the black hole eating away her emotions.

Michelle came to a stop in front of her locker. It was open before her, but she only had a vague memory twisting her combination into the dial.

Her locker wasn’t anything special. She kept an extra jacket on the hook, and the books she didn’t take home rested on the shelf above that. She didn’t see the point in decorating something she barely used. There was only one picture in the locker. She’d stuck it up by a piece of painters’ tape. The picture had a crease in the center with four thumbnail pictures in an orderly column.

Last year in December, Peter, Ned and she went to The Last Jedi opening night. The theater had a photo booth and both Ned and Peter insisted they take a group picture. Peter sat on both Michelle and Ned’s laps. She’d pretended that she wasn’t interested and kept her face neutral through the first three pictures. That was, until the last one when her head had tilted back, and a large smile took over her face. Peter had slipped off her knee and landed in her lap. It hurt, but he stayed and cocked his hip out, giving the camera cheesy bedroom eyes. She laughed so hard because that nerd was her friend, and God, was she lucky.

The picture caused a smile to crinkle her bloodshot eyes.

She hadn’t slept at all last night. After she’d received the email from her father, she’d attempted to call her mother. When Michelle received no answer, she tried to push the entire email out of her mind all together. With her hand throbbing and the fresh memory of the decathlon disaster, she decided to pour over anything that could save the team. Last night, she pored over every rule-book, by-law,  _anything_  she could get her eyes on. As the sun peaked pink and fresh over her white sheets this morning, Michelle had already gone over everything she could. Twice.

Michelle’s breath escaped her chest in a ragged huff. Her shoulders hit the sides of the locker and her head tipped into the darkness it offered. Dust kicked around her head. She took a large, shaky breath of the musty air, wondering how she would tell the team. She’d gone over so much information. She had been so sure she could find a way for the team to go on even if she wasn’t on it. There was nothing. Michelle couldn’t fix what she’d broken.

“MJ?” Yanking her head out of the locker, she turned toward the voice. Gwen was there, her eyes a firm line of concern. Michelle watched Gwen’s hands squeeze around the textbooks in her arms. “Hey I just wanted—”

“Hey guys!” Ned came bounding up to Michelle, smiling wide at Gwen. Peter wasn’t far behind, taking his time, his hands anchored on the straps of his bag.

Michelle turned back into her locker, making a show of placing the books from her backpack inside. “Hey Gwen,” Michelle tried to block out the smile she could hear in Peter’s voice when he greeted the other girl. “Hey, MJ.” She could’ve sworn the sound of his smile faded when he said her name. “We have Physics first hour, why are you putting your textbook in your locker?”

“I’m not putting it in my locker. I’m setting it down. See?” As she straightened, Michelle snatched the book back up, waving it around to prove a point. Her hair fell across her cheek, shielding her face from view.  She hadn’t bothered with pulling it up today. She’d barely managed pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater this morning, much less put her hair up.

Peter nodded, shooting a half-assed smile her way. It was the first time since their fight she’d seen him. Nothing had changed though. There was still a storm brewing in him. His gravity begged her to come nearer, to collide with him. And she wanted to. She wanted to collide with more destruction and celestial power than they’d experienced before. Michelle knew the next collision would send the particles of their shimmering, molten cores hurtling through space. She felt the urge to fall into Peter all the same. She wondered for a moment if he felt it too.

“Um, MJ, not to be rude or anything, but you’re not lookin’ too good.” Ned’s voice cut through her thoughts and Michelle dragged her eyes away from Peter.

She shot Ned a sarcastic smile. “Thanks, dude. That makes me feel loads better.”

Gwen stepped in. Michelle had seen her do it plenty of times with other girls. It was the precursor to a hug, but instead Gwen stayed put, settling for standing by Michelle’s side. “You don’t say that to a girl. Besides, those jeans look amazing. I’ve always wanted to pull off that pre-destroyed boyfriend look, but—I don’t know—it’s never looked right on me.” She smiled and after everything it surprised Michelle how much better that small smile made her feel. Gwen checked her phone. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. I’ll see you guys later. MJ, if you need anything, I’m happy to help.” Gwen slipped between Peter and Ned as the bell rang.

Michelle swings her bag onto her shoulder, attempting to slip her book into it. “Is your hand feeling better?” Ned asked.

Michelle ground her teeth after her third try of getting her book into her bag with one hand. “It hurts like hell. But what am I gonna do about it?”

Michelle dropped her bag, and started shoving her book in. After finally shoving the book into her back Michelle looked up, huffing. Peter was gazing down at her. “You okay?”

One gulp of air, one calming breath. The boiling rage inside her returned to a simmer. “Peachy.” Ned swooped down and slung Michelle’s bag over his shoulder, overlapping his own bag. “Ned!”

“Don’t fight it, MJ. This is happening.” He closed her locker for her as she stood up.

“I’m not a child. Let me carry my bag.”

The warning bell chimed through the halls. Most people were beginning to filter into their classes. Ned started walking, Peter by his side. Michelle found herself chasing their heels, trying to grab her bag. Ned looked at Peter, a reminiscent smile on his face. “They’re so feisty at this age.” He yanked Michelle’s bag away from her clawing hand, tisking at her over his shoulder.

“You guys are humiliating.” Michelle could feel some happiness escaping the gravity of the emptiness inside her.

Ned slowed so he could walk beside Michelle. Slinging his arm around her shoulder, Ned rested his head close to hers. “But you love us anyway.”

“How did I get wrangled into this?” Peter was smiling, but he hadn’t eased up his pace. She knew it was ridiculous—that maybe the sputtering spark inside her was casting things in a weird light—but she couldn’t help feeling Peter didn’t want to be near her.

Michelle shrugged out from under Ned’s arm. Giving up on getting her bag back, she placed her hands in her sweater pockets.

The group continued down the hall towards the Physics classroom. The final bell rang as they walked through the intersection of A hall and B Hall. That’s when Flash intercepted them. “Hey, Michelle!”

She turned, picking up on the malice in Flash’s voice. Ned and Peter came to a halt beside her, watching as Flash stomped towards them. His face was swollen in anger. Acid poured down Michelle’s ribs, it was eating away everything. It was fire eating her and feeding her at the same time. “What’s up, Eugene?” She knew it would only piss him off, but she said it anyways.

She would not allow the dread swirling inside her, a liquid fire engulfing her, to show on her face. She tilted her head up, making a point to glare down at his shorter form.

He stopped inches from her face. Behind her, Michelle heard Peter growl. She kept her ground. Flash’s hot breath crashed over her cheeks and his eyes were a dangerous fire. Somehow the fire was black as the night itself. “I heard what happened. How you ruined our chances at Nationals. Now the entire team can’t compete because you’re a retard.”

“Shut the fuck up,  _Eugene_. If I remember correctly, you couldn’t compete to begin with because you’re a self-important prick who doesn’t care about anyone else.”

“You little—” Flash jerked toward Michelle, but she dodged him.

“Back off. She’s done more for the team than you ever have.” Peter came around, wedging his way between Flash and Michelle. Ned’s hand tugged at the back of her shirt, urging her to step down. She swatted his hand away as she tried to force her way back in front of Peter. He was immovable.

There was a sparkle in Flash’s eye. He grinned as a fox would at its prey. Fire rolled in uneasy seas within Michelle’s stomach, crashing against the walls of her skin. Smoke and fire touched her tongue, rolling in spicy waves.

Through his leering grin, Flash sneered, “Oh, I see. Penis Parker comes to the rescue, is that it? Is Jones your girlfriend then?” His eyes scored up and down her body. The disapproval there was evident. It didn’t bother her though, she’d gotten used to the disappointment people found in her body. Peter took a minuscule step away, and that broke something in her. Flash’s eyes gleamed. “Oh? Wait. You couldn’t even manage to land Penis Parker, could you Jones? He’s too busy off with Gwen isn’t he. Well, I’d offer to give you a good fuck, but I don’t think anyone’s  _that_ desperate.”

Peter pounced towards Flash, Ned backing him up, but it was too late.

The temperature inside Michelle spiked. Water boiled over the pot. Everything was burning, the acrid stench of destruction stung her eyes. Michelle felt a vigorous explosion rupture her, tearing her apart by the core. The star inside her flashed so bright it blinded her. That’s when a guttural scream escaped her throat. Her elbow cocked back like a slingshot before she launched her fist into Flash’s jaw.

It felt like her hand ripped apart when it contacted with Flash’s face. Michelle could feel every scab, every knuckle, break open under her bandages. The bones in her fist shifted and her arm vibrated up to her shoulder on impact. “Son of a  _bitch!_ ” It was a yelp from her lips, aimed at no one in particular. The words were all she could do to keep from screaming. She hunched over her hand, trying to cope with the pain.

Enough air couldn’t enter her lungs.

Michelle registered Ned’s awed whisper, “Holy shit,” Peter froze, his eyes wide. Michelle could hear more than feel her labored breathing.

Flash writhed on the floor, his hands clapped onto his face, screaming, “What the hell was that?”

After the initial shock, Peter was at Michelle’s side, tucking her under his arm. His warmth encircled her. His breath drew lovely patterns over her skin. “What  _was_ that, MJ?” His lips were right by her ear, whispering with a soothing comfort. 

The fire inside of her collapsed in on itself, leaving her cold and dark. The emptiness in her chest decimated her body like a plague. There was no refugee, there was nothing. The image of her father standing over her mother consumed her mind. Her mother had writhed on the floor like Flash was doing now. Her father stood there idle, watching the destruction from his fists without pity.

The nothingness inside her reached her knees and Michelle buckled. Peter’s arms braced her against him. Her head smacked into his chest. She could hear his heartbeat thumping against her ear. The distance between them clapped back, all at once sucking them into the other.

Flash stopped his yelping, taking only to gaping at Michelle with one good eye. The fear written across his face widened the black hole ravishing her.

She could see her mother’s eyes begging her father to stop. Michelle could hear the echo of her father’s disgusting fists contacted her mother’s beautiful face.

A sob escaped her as Peter lowered her to the floor.

Fire had demolished her. Collapsing stars vanquished her. There was nothing left to give, yet her eyes poured with tears and her throat contracted with ragged sobs.

“MJ, we need to go.” Peter and Ned were lifting her up from her armpits, dragging her to her feet. “Ned, go help Flash.” Support from one side vanished, leaving Michelle lopsided.

Through her sobs, words babbled from her mouth in streams. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please…” She hoped Flash heard her. She hoped that her mother’s apologies would stop haunting her ears. Michelle wished she could take the words away and bury them under bushes and trees. That way she could forget the disparaging apologies of her mother as she begged her husband to stop beating her. Michelle wished that the words ‘I’m sorry’ could rot in hell because they would never be enough for what she’s done. They could never atone for her sins.

She was falling apart, piece by piece, barrier by barrier. She’d shattered so thoroughly that the jagged pieces of her were nothing but dust.

Soon she found her feet and forced them to work. Her legs wobbled under her weight. As Peter ushered her into an empty classroom, her legs finally returned to normal. A cold wave rolled up from her feet, eating the fire, washing away the ash. It crashed into her mind filling her up before leaving her bare. The tears dried on her cheeks and all that the wave left was the crushing realization of what she’d done.

Peter was in front of her, his hands on her arms conducting voltage into her chest. Trying to restart a dying heart. She could feel him and nothing else. “Hey,” His fingertips brushed under her chin. Michelle couldn’t meet his eyes. She was too broken, and she knew Peter would see it. “Are you okay?”

Silence. Years of saving face. Years of escaping and coping. Michelle couldn’t do it another time. She thought of the stars beyond the atmosphere. Escape. She needed escape.

“Michelle,” Peter’s voice caressed her wounds. It wound its way deep inside her and softened.

She inhaled, filling the vacuum inside her with air.  She tasted it on her tongue, the sweet bitterness of something new. Peter’s hands were still encircled around her biceps. He handled her as if she would crumble with the slightest movement. She’d been eroding for years now, though. She could fall apart without his help

Michelle pulled away from Peter’s touch, away from the concern widening his eyes. He had the type of eyes that were always active. They constantly swung around to the next thing, but occasionally they’d fixate on something. And when Peter’s eyes fixated on something, that was the only thing he saw. They were fixated on her now. “I don’t—” A sharp burst of pain rocketed from her hand, causing her to hiss through her teeth. “My hand. Dammit. I’m a fucking idiot.”

Red was bleeding through the bandages on her knuckles. Red. Blood. It engulfed her with slippery hands. Her mother bled on the carpet, on the table. She bled everywhere. She bled across her father’s fists. Across his blistering anger.

Anger. It turned everything red.

Peter was already taking up her hand, his thumb traveling the battered mountains of her fist, ever so gentle. “You’re not an idiot. If you hadn’t done it, I promise I would’ve. Flash was being a complete asshole. He had it coming.”

Michelle wondered if that’s what her father thought when he’d bloodied her mother time and time again.  _She had it coming_.

Michelle shoved Peter, breaking away from him like a planet from orbit. “No. He didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserves that.” The plastic varnish on the table top next to her was chipping away. Michelle wedged her nail under the layer and pulled up more of the smooth black top. It peeled away in one big chip, leaving the plywood core free from obstruction. A sliver bit into the pad of Michelle’s finger.

It already felt like it was festering.

Peter kept his distance after she shoved him, but his gaze was still focused on her. His gaze connected them. It drew a line between the beating of her heart and his. “You’ve put Flash in his place before. I don’t—”

“I wasn’t angry those times. Every time I twisted his arm or called him out I wasn’t furious. I didn’t lose control. They were always calculated actions. This was,” Michelle expelled a breath, hoping to expel the thought of her father with it. His anger writhed in toxic pits, mixed with her own frustrations and annoyances. She could feel him riddled through her. He was a cancer creating everything she hated about herself like tumors riddled through her bones.

Michelle collapsed against the table, her head drooping. If her father had never sent that stupid email she wouldn’t feel so broken. If he had kept to rotting away in prison, she would’ve lived out her life with only the casual reminder of him. Now she couldn’t shake him. He was invading her mind. She couldn’t help feeling that everything leads back to him, and that realization appalled her.

“Are you okay?”

Raising her eyes to Peter, Michelle found the concerned boy she knew. She wondered what he saw as he gazed back at her. Did he see her broken at his feet? Or did he see the strong girl she liked to think she was?

Words were swirling on her tongue, ready to fall from her lips until, at the last second, they would turn around and leave again. Fighting against the current of words thrashing against her teeth, Michelle shook her head. One word slipped past her teeth, “No…” It tasted of ash and desolation on her lips. She’d crumbled, allowed Peter to see her flaws and cracks. It was something she could never return from. How would he look at her now? With pity?

Maybe he’d see her for what she was, just glass made from the fire of a dying star. So breakable. So fragile.

Michelle went to wipe her eyes, trying to bury the tears under her thumbs but another pair of hands hand slipped over her cheeks before she could. The touch was tentative, but she’d know it from her deepest memory. She’d remember it for ages. The tactile spark of it as Peter’s fingers curled around her cheeks and his thumbs mopping up the residue of her tears. Her eyes shot to him. There was a spark, like flint on steel, and it lit the fire back into Michelle’s chest. It was small, but it was there.

In Peter’s eyes, Michelle saw nothing but understanding, and something akin to relief. There was a worry etched into his brow. His eyes always so wide with joy and amazement focused on her with that same wonder he looked at the world with. She half expected him to pull away from her, but he seemed caught in a beam of light. She couldn’t understand why. The way his hands warmed her frigid skin couldn’t force her to pull away from him. Would it be so bad to allow him to see this part of her? Hadn’t he shown her enough times that he would stay with her?

“What do you need?”

Michelle shook her head, causing Peter’s hands to fall from her cheeks. They dangled at his sides. Michelle swallowed hard past the growing ball of fire stinging her throat. “I just need to get away. I don’t know,” She ran her tongue over her dry lips and tasted salt. “I just want to get away from it all. But I’m stuck here, and this is my life. I can’t change it.” She turned her head away, unwilling to look Peter in the eye. “We should go.” She tilted her chin toward the door. “I should probably go see the nurse about my hand.”

Swallowing her pride, Michelle grabbed her bag. She tried to forget the mounting pain in her fist as she stepped past Peter. His hand closed around her wrist before pulling away. It fed the fire inside of her. She could barely breathe from the heat of it. Whipping around she glared at him, hoping in some way that would make him forget the image of her shattered in his arms. “Michelle, please, just talk to me. You need to talk to someone.”

“I—” She drifted closer to the door, falling deeper until there was no stars, no light, just darkness. If only she could see the stars in the distance. If only there was hope for her, but the pain in her hand said otherwise. She would always be her father’s daughter. And Peter, with how innately good he was shouldn’t have to deal with her baggage. He deserved so much more than what she could give him. “I should go.”

Michelle pulled open the door and fled. She didn’t stop until the school fell away behind her, and the cool emptiness inside her cradled her once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys please let me know your thoughts on this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! And let me know if you want more!


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